To say that I sulked all weekend because I didn’t catch an invite to the pseudo-Royal Wedding going down in Berkshire is an understatement. I wanted to be arms-wide-open on the dance floor at this affair while Royals just stumbled around me snickering about who Harry’s actual father is and when he’s going to propose to Meghan Markle.
I’ve gone on record saying that Prince Harry is, without a doubt, the most eligible bachelor in the world. Conversely, next to Tiger Woods’s ex Elin Nordegren, Pippa Middleton was the natural choice for most eligible bachelorette until this weekend when she married some dork with deep pockets who wasn’t even royalty until his parents bought some estate in Scotland. But deep pockets is an understatement given the expenses of their wedding, which was one of the more baller affairs you’ll see this year. After all, it was rumored to exceed £1 million ($1.3 million) in costs, per The Daily Beast.
And I’m doing this all in Great British Pounds because I’m a traditionalist.
£30,000 for a fleet of Range Rovers to transport guests.
Oh, you got buses to take your guests from the ceremony to the reception? Cool. Pippa got fucking Range Rovers like she was re-creating P. Diddy and Lune’s “I Need A Girl (Pt. 2)” video. You have to think they turned those things into full-blown car bars with imported champagne getting sipped from etched crystal roadie glasses.
£40,000 for her wedding dress.
I got suckered into buying an APC short sleeve button down shirt for $220 because it fit like I had it tailored at Harrod’s. Ever since, I’ve been lamenting the purchase and pinching pennies trying to forget it ever happened while also fearing I’m going to rip it my first night out on the town. Well, her dress cost more than 200 times what my shirt cost, and that wasn’t even the long and short of it.
An unknown amount for a second dress for the “evening celebrations.”
Buying a second, more modest dress to party in at the reception isn’t a new or novel concept. Sometimes you’ve got to show some leg on the dance floor or preserve a family heirloom. Can’t imagine Pippa skimped on this considering her sister is married to the future-King of England and she needs to somehow outshine her.
£100,000 for the glass structure where the reception was held.
Sure, they could’ve had the wedding at the already-extravagant hunting lodge in Scotland owned by her now-husband’s family, but nah. Toss out a casual six-figures on a glass structure instead because money is not, in fact, a thing. I, for one, would’ve gone with the hunting lodge and thrown out Barbour coats from the stage where the band performed the entire Oasis discography. But that’s probably why I’m not British royalty.
£20,000 on 150 bottles of Dom Perignon.
And these weren’t just any bottles of Dom – these were served by “out-of-work models.” Regular caterers need not apply, because why would you want peasant servers when you can make the entire wedding venue into a runway of Hansels?
£55,000 on a wine none of you (including myself) can pronounce.
750 bottles of Nyetimber 2010 Blanc de Noir Millington, to be exact. And I thought I was stunting when I bought a bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir for $20.99 at Whole Foods.
£5,000 for a fly-by.
I thought fly-overs were reserved for football games and patriotic-as-hell celebrations in The United States, but no. All of the sudden I need a fleet of fighter jets flying over my wedding with me fist pumping underneath them. Or at least a fleet of jet skis scorching by while I get married on a beach. I’ll take either.
£20,000 on wedding cake, music, bands, and lighting.
Their fringe costs add up to more than your rent this year. How does that make you feel? Like a peasant? Same, but that’s because we are peasants in Pippa’s eyes. Like I said, she turned down having her wedding at a Scottish hunting lodge that we’d probably pay 20-bucks a pop just to tour and gawk at.
This also included, but was not limited to, some awesome extravagant entertainment mid-reception.
[This included] a light show that saw footage of the bride and groom beamed onto the back of Bucklebury Manor—portable table-tennis tables dotted around the venue (at which Roger Federer took on Prince Harry) and a five-course meal for 350.
Never mind the fact that a five-course meal is absurd for a wedding, but Prince Harry was playing Roger fucking Federer in table-tennis while all of us were drinking Bud Lights on special.
Dammit, I feel so poor right now it’s not even funny. Is it too much to ask in life to go to a wedding where I’m walking around with Prince William trying to find a cool enough bartender that he’ll disobey Pippa’s dad’s wishes and serve us shots? I didn’t think so. .
[via The Daily Beast]
Image via YouTube