Trista's mom pops into midtown (33rd and 7th, though I suspect they only shot that intersection because there's a sign below it that reads "Fashion Avenue," which it really isn't, unless "fashion" and "Midtown's dirtiest Taco Bell" are the same thing which, to me, they are) to go dress shopping with Trista. We meet two designers whose names Mindy says once and I can't understand and you can't afford anyway, but we find out that they designed Jennifer Lopez's wedding dress ["which one?" -- Wing Chun], and that's gotta be good enough for us. Trista and Mom sip champagne as they watch models try on a series of gowns, until Trista emerges from the dressing room and gives her crying mom a hug. What's up with that dress? It's fine at the bottom, but right at the cleavage point there's this weird shape that looks like a pentagram. How adorably charming. In a Buffy Halloween episode sort of way.
Stewart Weitzman designs a shoe. Please. No more.
A bridesmaid named Angela from Louisville, Kentucky seems, frankly, only marginally excited as she tells us, "We got this call yesterday. It was a picture, [which] came through from Trista and Ryan, saying surprise[,] can you meet me in New York, which was exciting." It was? It wasn't rude, completely ignorant of the hectic lives other people are trying to lead, or brazenly arrogant to think a girl from Louisville could just drop everything and (losing an hour, no less) turn up in formalwear for dinner in New York the next night? Wow. My aforementioned friends are getting married across the country next August, so they sent out Save The Date cards to everyone. In November. And you GAIN three hours going that way.
Everyone's in the hotel, Ryan telling us that he's so happy everyone was able to "put their lives on hold." At least he understands the magnitude of how much he's inconveniencing them all. Her, not so much. And from here, it basically turns into the first night in the new house of a Bachelor season, the only difference being that this time everyone's getting tanked on champagne due to misery rather than nerves. A groomsman named Pete stirs the gumbo a bit, telling us in a confessional, "You wonder, you question, whether they're really in love." Wow. Tough love from the wedding party. (P.S. We agree.) (P.P.S. Don't call us, Pete. We're afraid of you.) The girly side of the party, though, is in love with love, and a girl named Missy poses the X-chromosome counterpoint that Trista and Ryan make each other very happy. And if they can continue to live the next fifty to seventy-five years in a world of trick editing, the happy couple may just believe it as well.