Why I hate Weddings
A wedding invite is like a court summons
I’ll tell you one good thing about this pandemic. One blessed relief. The cessation of wedding invitations arriving through the letterbox. They are generally about as welcome as rodent infestations in the kitchen.
Given the choice, I would sooner welcome a parking ticket like an old friend — at least, with a parking ticket, I know I have transgressed and the financial penalty is clear.
Let me tell you why:
I almost certainly do not need to be there. I just don’t. Weddings should be a special gathering of loved ones. Of family, bound by blood, or the kind of friend that lasts a lifetime. I’d estimate that around 80% of the weddings that I am invited to are because I am in a WhatsApp group. Expensive things, WhatsApp groups — you can’t leave anyone out.
As a general rule, if you look back at the photos in 40 years, you should know who your guests are. That lad, loitering in the background, that you once shared a taxi with and subsequently a WhatsApp group? Shouldn’t be there.
Price and Time. A wedding invitation is like receiving a court summons. Turn up at this appointed hour, and bring a few hundred quid with you. Nowadays, it seems the ceremony is generally a 9-hour drive away from the reception — and don’t forget, there will be no taxis at the reception — so there’s an overnight stay to factor in. Two hundred quid down.
And, let’s not forget, you must arrive bearing gifts like some sort of modern-day Wiseman. Gold, Frankincense, Myrrh or 100 quid in an envelope. I was Best Man at a ceremony once where the invitations were inscribed with, and I paraphrase here to save embarrassment, “don’t leave in a dash, leave us some cash”. In what world is this acceptable? It’s more or less like paying for a ticket.
I know of other brides and grooms who have held weddings for profit under the veil of pragmatism. “We have everything we need. We need for no gifts — but cash would be lovely” — Surely this is immoral and pretentious in equal measures.
The Eternity Illusion. Typically, a minister or a priest is drafted in to marry the couple. Fair enough, neither party may not have set foot in a place of worship since Christmas 2002 — but it remains pivotal to the whole thing to have that blessing from a Deity.
Why? It adds an illusion of eternity to the whole thing. Some solemn vows and biblical text make it seem like a cast iron partnership. The difficulty, however, is that it isn’t at all.
Researchers in the United States have analysed the statistics — their findings? Almost 50% of weddings end in divorce, and 41% of first time marriages end in divorce.
So, the air of permanence is totally bogus. You can have the damn thing annulled with 72 hours, and if you miss that threshold, fear not, you are but a divorce away from freedom.
The Big Day. Nowadays, they are a grand affair. Canapes, champagne, cigars and a 3-course meal. The Full Monty.
Then you throw in the theatrics of the occasion. The engagement photoshoot, the videographer of the big day, the photo booth — anything to add to the grandeur of the occasion. It’s an arms race too, of course. Your wedding has to be grander and more expensive than your friends — the visuals have to be even more impressive — it’s like a real-life episode of Keeping Up Appearances.
How much of this is a sincere expression of love? Or is it a desire to enhance the digital assets of the occasion — the Instagram posts etc?
Call me a sceptic, but I rather fear the gravity and sincerity of the occasion have been usurped by the day itself. Brides like their big day in the sun — and who can blame them? They have grown up watching beautiful brides and ceremonies on the television and been condition to believe that perfection is key.
The Pressure. The big day becomes all-encompassing. It breeds societal pressure. The big day becomes something to aspire to in itself, rather than the more mundane and solemn bond of marriage. Day after day, week after week, year after year of companionship. Of getting by, of making a compromise and making things work. On the big day itself, you just see the glitz and the glam — but that’s not life, really, is it?
And that’s how pressure starts in social groups. Girls want their big day, just like the one they were at in the Cotswolds last winter. Guys who have taken the plunge want solidarity and therefore encourage their friends to do likewise. And so, the fabric and meaning of marriage is slowly but surely further eroded.
Now, I have a disclaimer to make. I am a single man. A devout bachelor.
Perhaps I am jealous, disgruntled?
It’s possible — but I will swear to anyone, that there is nothing I loathe more in this life than being forced into a photo booth wearing a fake moustache — or being forced to give up my weekends’ cricket match to attend the wedding of the guy I sat beside once at a lecture.
It would be remiss of me not to mention that I have enjoyed a good few weddings in my time. Weddings where I have felt genuinely entitled to be there coupled with a genuine pleasure for the couple. These, however, are very much the exception and not the rule.
If I ever get married, I like to think I will have the mental fortitude to want a quiet wedding. Us, a cleric and close family — but, then again, other good men have said likewise and lost that battle.
