With weddings come a lot of traditions. A lot of these traditions don’t make sense to me. There’s no connection between a bride’s bouquet and who gets married next, it doesn’t actually matter if the groom sees the bride before she walks down the aisle, and who gives a shit about cutting a damn cake?
Every week, Brides brings evolving wedding traditions to the table and answers them the best they can. This week, they took on “wedding after-parties.” No, not receptions. After-parties.
While the end of the reception used to mean the end of the wedding celebration, that’s no longer the case: More and more couples are choosing to keep that party going late into the night (or the next morning!) with a wedding after-party. They’re totally fun and can be as formal or as low-key as you’d like, but do you actually have to have one?
Fellow millennials, I plead to you to listen to me. I beg you to hang on every one of my last words and treat them with the utmost respect. I defy you to go against whatever you may be reading on Pinterest and follow me into the promise land.
Please, for the love of all things holy matrimony, do not have a post-reception wedding after-party.
Should you be in the stages of planning a wedding, do not take these words lightly for all your friends will fucking hate you. The finish line, for some, is when the country club bartenders utter, “No more!” But for others, the time spent post-reception is a coveted time.
The couples? They fight about who will pay for the Uber. The happy couple? They get in a classic car and pass out in all their clothes at The Presidential Suite of the hotel. The children? They’re already in bed.
Once the confetti has been thrown and the open bar has been exhausted, gentleman near and far will make the hammered pilgrimage to local watering holes wearing the same suit or tuxedo that treated them so well throughout the night. Upon entering these establishments, they make their presence known. Not only by their dress, but by their overall invincible demeanor.
Winks and finger points galore rain through the bar before they belly up with an undone bowtie and bellow, “Macallan 18, please.” They’ve been drinking on someone else’s open tab all night, therefore they can afford to look like high-rollers in front of innocent onlookers who become entranced by their perfectly tailored Ralph Laurens and bit loafers.
Girls from near and far swoon, pushing away the peasants they met at the bar who are wearing nothing more than a button down shirt or a sweater. They see their opportunity to be the plus-ones at weddings in the near future where Instagram likes come with the territory.
“Where’d you boys come from?” they ask, tugging on the end of one blacked out groomsmen’s tie.
“The name’s Brad, pleased to meet you.”
But all that goes away if there’s yet another sanctioned wedding event. So for the love of God, please, do not schedule an after party. Let the boys run like the bulls of Pamplona. .