Candy and Flowers: The Marriage-Industrial Complex
In the spring, weddings and marriage-chat seem to spread through the air like avian flu. Sunday night, I witnessed a public proposal (for the record: accepted). When I went to the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center on Saturday, one of my friends decreed the place an excellent wedding locale before we’d even picked up brochures. At work last week, I got stuck past my shift because some bride-to-be was just desperate for whimsical wedding favors. I keep seeing ads for charity wedding dress auctions, bridal shows, wedding photographers and the like. Unless women take to the streets wearing white gowns, I don’t think things can get much more out of hand.
Of course, I’ve been inundated with wedding invitations. I’ll be spending the weekend of my birthday going to a black-tie nuptial in Dallas. This means I’m confronted with an event for which I have to find a dress. Isn’t that the bride’s job? Shouldn’t I just be able to unearth one of those sundresses my mother buys me? But, no. Formal wear it is.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t begrudge people their weddings. Marriage can be a number of things — a discriminatory institution, a complex issue for gender politics, a formal commitment, a religious ceremony, a tax break — but, above all, in most cases it represents a leap of faith. How nice to think you could love someone forever. That really is a beautiful idea. Having said that, though, weddings are a pile of work for the rest of us. There are gifts to buy and dresses to wear and heels to endure and portraits to ogle and showers to host.
I know more about weddings than I would like to, really, as I spent one of my life’s transitional periods working in a photography studio in my hometown, writing brochures and putting together window displays. In a small town, if someone gets divorced, you'd better get that bridal portrait out of the window real quick. I watched unions come together and dissolve. I watched perfectly nice women transform into monsters as the big day approached, and I endured the awkward conversations with my former high school classmates as they got ready to march down the aisle and into adulthood.
I went to a number of those weddings. Some of them were beautiful. Some of them were strange. At one low-budget affair, I served cake, and my arms were covered in frosting by the end of the night, bits of sugar stuck to my dress. I also, as part of my job, went to bridal shows, snagging rate cards and brochures from other photographers so we could keep an eye on the competition. I’d wade through the sea of brides flanked by their female friends and family members as they pondered slices of designer cake and swatches of satin. With little to do, I’d fill my hands with portraiture brochures, mumble about not having set a date yet and load up on fondant-coated cake bits while enduring sales pitch after sales pitch. Marriage may be a beautiful idea, but it’s big business, too.
As I approach this wedding season, I find myself scouring sales racks for an unembarrassing formal dress I can afford, hoping the gift registry includes something in the “I swear I’d be more generous, but I’m in graduate school” range, and using up my time off to send people off on their happily-ever-after attempt. At least I can hope for an open bar.
