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The wedding dress

The weather could not have been better. The sun set behind the mountain that rises above Palm Springs, bathing the valley with rich colors. At the Viceroy, Kelly Wearstler’s lemon-yellow chairs set against blue sky and blue pools were stunning.

I walked toward one of those pools, and as a few hotel guests caught the remaining rays of the day’s sun, Pamela Johnston stood like a goddess among them. She was wearing the dress that only a month or so ago had been a thought in the head of designer Alireza Massoumnia. Massoumnia rushed up to the bride, who was having her photo taken, and quickly went to work. A tuck here, a pull there. Her headpiece, self-made, was a pile of white netting, just covering her eyes. Her lips, stained fuchsia, perfectly matched her silk Pucci pumps and peonies. She, like the desert light, shone bright.I accompanied Massoumnia across the hotel’s grounds. We sat on a geometric mod printed sofa on a lush green lawn and sipped champagne as the sun went down. And quickly the serenity of only moments ago disappeared. A mariachi band composed of young girls in traditional Mexican costume emerged as the groom, Josh, walked through the crowd. Then the music started, a rousing version of “I Walk the Line,” and Pamela gracefully walked down the aisle arm in arm with her parents.

The ceremony, led by a friend who was ordained online and who had on a tiara and a flower-printed muumuu, was anything but traditional. She told their tale, of their meeting at the age of 14, of their going separate ways and living on both east and west coasts, and of their eventual reunion. The ceremony was simple and colorful — much like the vows read and the group of friends and family in attendance. Attention to detail was obvious: the pink and yellow flowers, the yellow cones of pom-poms in lieu of rice, the mariachi band!