Be Honest With Your Wedding Hashtag

Be Honest With Your Wedding Hashtag

Wedding hashtags are terrible. Will deFries made this extremely apparent. They’re unoriginal, corny as shit, and clog up Instagram worse than a new baby from a foodie. Girls, I understand that you want something clever and unique for all your guests to tag, but for fuck’s sake, there are wedding hashtag generators now. It’s getting out of hand. You can keep using your #LastNameEverAfter or #OnceUponaLastName, but if you’re going to stray away from the perfectly respectable “Last Name – Last Name” wedding, I’d rather see something a bit more telling, like these original suggestions.


This November wedding seems a little late in the year, but that baby is due in January and they wanna get this one in. It’s one of those sweet ceremonies that has the great feel of being hastily planned, where you get to see the bloated bride (who just wants to get off her feet) toast with some orange juice, while the borderline blackout drunk groom just tries to pretend that this is exactly how he planned it. No matter how “in love” that couple is, at some point you’re going to catch a tired bride staring at her sloppy new husband wondering if perhaps they should’ve just popped the little one out first.


You all had that buddy who constantly had a girlfriend that you knew would marry early, but you’re putting your foot down after shelling out money to go see this guy get hitched for the third time in eight years. Yeah, he’s one of your good buddies, and yeah, getting hammered at an open bar is a great time. But when you’re asking everyone to come for a destination wedding to your also thrice-married coworker, a line needs to be drawn. Everyone at the wedding is hopeful, and the quote “this one is the one” is thrown out multiple times, followed by a grimaced pull of Bud Light.


“Let’s have a cheers to the bride and groom!” This exclamation is followed by bets be laid down at each table on how long until they need a divorce hashtag. You love your buddy to death, but he’s a real-life version of Sack Lodge from Wedding Crashers, and the only thing his new bride loves more than hating him is drunkenly spending his money online. You throw down your bet on four months, then instantly think you might have given them too much credit.


This couple’s relationship has spanned two presidents, and they announced their engagement with a twist on the recently popular phrase “We’re taking our talents to the altar.” Flash forward nearly half a decade and despite being the happiest couple you know, they can’t seem to get their shit together to get a wedding planned. After umpteen scheduling conflicts and seven venue changes, here we are. By now, everyone who received an invitation just assumed they were renewing their vows. The wedding is summed up by the best man, who’s winging his speech because he didn’t bother to write one due to never believing that this would happen, says “I remember back when these two first started dating….” And then trails off because he actually doesn’t.


It’s a happy couple. They’re pretty decent together. Good for them. But let’s not confuse this event as a loving celebration of marriage. This wedding is being held for one reason: to get fucking wasted. The bride and groom are notorious borderline alcoholics, as are both families, the groomsmen, the bridesmaids, everyone on the guest list, 97-year-old great-grandma Magda — shit, even the priest has a few vices up his sleeve. This is what happens when the respective life of the party from two groups of friends meet and get married. They want to live happily ever after, but they really want to have a wedding that makes a bachelor party look tame. It’s the wedding you don’t want to miss, especially when you hear the rumor that the bride’s father allocated $5K in the budget strictly for drunken property damage.

Put an end to the common, corny hashtags. Come on brides-to-be, you’re better than this.

Image via Shutterstock

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Kyle Bandujo

The artist formerly known as Crash Davis. My kid doesn't think I'm funny.

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