OR...
How to Throw a Dream Wedding when you're Too Young, Too Broke, and Too Damn Far Away.
"Get married" or "meet husband" was never on my New Year's Resolutions list. I never daydreamed about my wedding as a girl. Hell, I was happy when people could tell I was a girl. My childhood was a whole lot of L.A. Looks hair gel and listening to Sarah McLachlan's Angel on my Walkman, sobbing under the covers because an inevitably gay friend of mine didn't like me like that. Not a good look.
So New Year's Eve, December 31st 2009, came as quite a surprise. I was on the subway headed to Brooklyn. We thought we were running late for a warehouse party. And while yes, I am incredibly self conscious about every part of that sentence now, I didn't give a shit about anything that night on the train. Not my lack of eyeliner. Or impractical shoes. Or extreme sobriety. Because a few days ago I had a beer with a guy named Dave. And I sat there quietly, calmly realizing that I had just met my best friend for life.
A month later Dave would tell me he loved me. Two months after that he would agree to quitting his job, leaving his family, and moving thousands of miles away for me, a human he didn't know existed that Christmas.
We got engaged in May 2011.
Jumping off the love train for a second, allow a quick reality check. I'm 25 and Dave isn't much older. Our apartment is furnished with used Ikea stuff I found on Craigslist. I just graduated from a $100k+ plus masters program. I'm a broke-ass gal. Or a broke ass-gal. Either way, both are true. And after two years of writing, working, and freaking the fuck out about 'branding myself,' I remembered that oh yeah...I have a fucking wedding to plan?!
May to October. 5 months. $5,000. And the wedding is going to be on the opposite side of the country. That's what we were working with. If you're not familiar with the bridal industry, I suggest you Google "average cost of a wedding."
Or go to any number of wedding websites where you will find countless budget calculators and learn about your wedding 'must-haves.' Monogrammed pashminas for your guests should you choose a trendy rustic theme that may leave them out in the cold. Embossed invitations on the highest quality paper because unless a guest can hold something in their hand, feel the texture with their fingertips, the wedding won't feel 'real.' Quotes on standard, crowd-pleasing catering because lest you forget the golden rule, weddings are not about the couple. They are about the guests.
Or go watch Father of the Bride. There is a really great, touching scene right at the climax of the film when Steven Martin finds his young daughter, the bride-to-be, asleep on the couch. She's been looking at a magazine. An article about how to throw a wedding on a budget. His face crumbles. His heart breaks.
"Bake your own wedding cake."
"Find a good tailor and copy a designer dress."
Or worst of all...
"Have a friend take the pictures."
***
At Dave and I's wedding, our friends took these:
 |
| Basirah Photography - www.basirahphotography.com |
 |
| Basirah Photography - www.basirahphotography.com |
 |
| Courtesy of Thomas Livingstone |
 |
| Courtesy of Don Parkinson |
 |
| Courtesy of Don Parkinson |
 |
Courtesy of Don Parkinson
|
No, we didn't find a tailor to make a knock-off dress. But I did scour the internet for short dresses by independent designers and lucked into discovering Ivy and Aster. Figuring out bridesmaids dresses wasn't nearly as simple but once again, the internet came through. Several PDFs, links, and obscenely long email threads later, everyone managed to find a dress that fit the warm/cool/jewel-tone/lace/not-lace theme. Because that shouldn't be too hard, right? I'm still in awe of how beautiful they all came together.
And no, while we didn't bake our own cake, we did bake pies. They would double as dessert and a no-rules, down-and-dirty pie contest for the bakers involved. Temple of the Dog's Hunger Strike would mark the beginning of the Top Chef inspired competition as every guest voted for their favorite dessert with beads and hearts.
Being broke, we couldn't afford to have a our wedding at one of those fancy Massachusetts barns that require you to buy into expensive catering packages. So we got married in an actual barn in the middle of the woods of Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. It was a rainy weekend so fog hung over the mountains, the foliage, and the nearby lake.
We rented an adorable house on site and transformed it into a cozy craft factory in preparation for the wedding day. Fueled by the daily Dunkin Donuts run, we painted jars, hung twinkle light canopies, and made arrangements out of Trader Joe's mums. We built playlists, a photo booth, and turned 1,500 squares of vintage paper into gorgeous chevron table runners.
We made an ass-ton of jello shots and cooked dinner together like Sister Wives. We worked late into the night. Showered in shifts. And took breaks to look at the Milky Way because, my god, you could. We designed the ceremony. Passed around the glitter nail polish. Tested hairstyles. Before finally sleeping under floral quilts and vaulted, wood beam ceilings.
Not even a wolf spider could stop our productivity. NOTE: Do not Google "wolf spider."
Again, since we working with a micro-budget, we had to cater the reception ourselves. But as luck would have it, Dave and I both have ridiculously skilled friends and family that work in the food service industry. So we 'settled' for a pancake bar brunch with fresh fruit, eggs, bacon, and that special cranberry-honey butter my mother had been talking about for months.
Because we were struggling to save money for said food, affording a wedding band was out of the question. But again, I was in luck as my mom offered her father's ring. A simple, etched gold band from the grandfather I never met but always wondered about. A tall, stern looking man who worked in some construction capacity at Wellesley College. A father who noticed that the school's library was giving away books and decided to take some home. Among them, an illustrated nature atlas so pretty that his daughter would save it. And her daughter would steal it. And years and years later it would be incorporated into the centerpieces at the wedding of the granddaughter he never met.
It got handed down. Love got handed down.
Not because it was planned. But because we needed it. If throwing our wedding has taught us anything, it's that beautiful things can rise out of necessity. A time to see our family's selfless love and support so literally. The opportunity to show the world just how god damn talented and beautiful our friends are. A chance to witness friendship in action. Love in action.
Call us cheap or tacky or, heaven forbid, gauche. But I wonder, would we have gotten the chance to see Grace so plainly if we had just waited? Until we were 'well off.' Or 'older.' Or could afford customized pashmina favors? Maybe not.
So, friends and family, you were the key to our dream wedding. You are the reason why 2012 may be the best year of our lives.
We owe you. Big time.
