When my older sisters got married, my dad made them an offer. He said he would either pay for the wedding of their dreams or he would write them a check for what he would have spent. In today’s world of over-the-top and ridiculously overpriced mason jar and cowboy boot-laden weddings, my dad essentially offered to pay for a down payment on a home, or an in-state college tuition for one of his future over-the-top and ridiculously overpriced grandchildren named Paisely or Lakelyn or whatever it is that privileged white women these days call their miniature humans. Because my sisters fall into said category of “people who should suffer from white guilt” (read: all of you) they chose the wedding. There was no discussion, no mention of this offer to their fiancés, no questions, no thought, no doubt. No wedding? The fuck is that, Dad?
So they planned their big days, attended their cake tastings, took their obligatory, “This is the first time we’ve ever been in a barn!” engagement photos, and went on with their lives. My parents’ house became a shrine to eternal love and juice cleanses. Magazine cutouts, fabric samples, menus, and screaming matches between my mother and the soon-to-be brides filled our once neat and peaceful home. It was hell. It was during that year and a half period of time when my parents planned not one, but two weddings that I decided when I finally trap some poor bastard into marrying me, I’m taking the check.
While none of my friends have gotten on board with this apparently selfish choice of mine, I stand firm in my decision. Weddings, while beautiful, are a waste of money. They say the average wedding costs $35,000 these days, but let’s be honest. I’m not average–and neither are any of you. What “average” means is a a David’s Bridal dress, overly applied sheer lipgloss, and–I can’t even say it with a straight face–a buffet. Call me dramatic, but I’d rather pull a Jonestown with my entire family than subject everyone I know to a buffet. No wedding I’ve ever been to could be classified as “average,” and given the Pinterest obsession, I’m willing to bet you haven’t been to an “average” wedding, either. Weddings have become absurdly expensive, insanely theatrical, and have nothing to do with what the day is supposed to be about: the love two people have for one another. It’s a no-baby’s-breath-or-you’re-fired, how-fast-can-I-put-these-photos-up-on-Facebook, is-her-dress-more-expensive-than-mine ridiculous circus. And thanks to the invention of “social media managers,” the multi-billion dollar a year industry just got that much more ridiculous.
Recently, the W Hotel group announced that it will now offer an exclusive, once in a lifetime experience for its guests: someone who will live tweet your wedding–for the cool price of $3,000. Responsibilities of this social media guru include creating a #weddinghashtag and Instagramming photos of the happy couple throughout the day. Essentially, this person’s job is to do what every other drunk, single, crying girl already does. The whole thing seems absolutely absurd a little silly. But what do I know? I’m the girl who doesn’t want a wedding.