I find Karolena in the dressing room of her church in the south end of Seattle. It’s a charming old church, with leaded glass windows, and big exposed beams in the sanctuary. The room is strewn with the usual array of plastic bags, make-up, shoes, and hair products. The room is full of laughter, too.

She’s just poking her head out of her dress, with two friends pulling it down around her waist. The big full skirt settles into place with an elegant rustle.She looks in the mirror and a shy smile creeps across her face. “I look like a bride,” she says.