There’s no avoiding it: planning a wedding as a feminist can feel like a contradiction.
My fella and I have been an item for approaching 14 years, cohabiting for four of those. We share a semi-detached house, a white-socked staffie, and an unusual longing for Ikea trips. In 2021, said fella proposed marriage, and I duly accepted. He was wise enough to use a placeholder ring.
As a long-time frequenter of the Jewellery Quarter, this feminist is not ashamed to admit she revelled at the idea of choosing an engagement ring together. This feminist will also admit she grins often at the gold-mounted garnet masquerading as peridot on her left hand.
I’m a whore for accessories. Sue me.
These days, I try to allot some time on Sundays to delve into the spreadsheet and check we’re on track for our Autumn nuptials, highlighting cells, and using bold red text to flag action points. For me, organising is easy, ticking off a list, no sweat. Cathartic, even.
But trudging through swathes of messaging rooted in patriarchal traditions, each Sunday, I force myself to double check, triple check, quadruple check we’re still doing it our way.
What do I mean by that?
Well, so much about getting married is dictated by a prescribed structure. The more I think about these customs, the more they give me the ick. Here are a few examples of less than cute wedding rituals that can pop themselves in the bin:
“Giving away” the bride
Just a casual transfer of property. This stinks of Bridgerton-style dowries, the need to rid your household of the liability of a daughter, attract greedy suitors, and make her someone else’s problem. Walking down the aisle with one or both of your parents can be a lovely way to involve them in your day, but literally handing the bride over from father to groom is kind of gross.
That will be a no from me, thank you.
Bouquet and garter toss
Throwing the bouquet into a gathering of single women is reminiscent of rom-com scenes depicting Pilates- toned women wrestling each other to the ground for a slither of hope against their spinster prospects. I mean, really? This presumes all single female attendees are desperate to be next in line for their vows. I like to think that isn’t the case, and don’t fancy shaming my friends if it is.
The garter toss is even worse. This little practice comes from a need to provide evidence that the marriage has been consummated. Ew. The groom is literally bragging about bedding his wife, all under the watchful glare of his grandparents and wider family. Not to mention, that for the majority of the population, we can presume the marriage has been pre-consummated on many prior occasions. Ahem.
The idea behind the white dress
Prior to Queen Victoria’s ceremony, red was the colour to wear. She chose white silk to demonstrate her vast wealth, and the colour has since been adopted by others, often from religious circles, to symbolise a bride’s virginity or purity. Whatever the suffragette that means.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for being extra with fashion for a single day, and have no intrinsic issues with the colour palette. However, let’s drop the grim association with a woman’s supposed value, and just appreciate the craft of dressmaking, shall we?
Taking your husband’s name
No judgment of those who do, but I can’t quite figure out why this is still our default. I don’t want to erase something that’s been a huge part of my identity throughout my 28 years on this planet i.e. my name. Any future successes should honour my Irish heritage, and given my lack of brothers, I feel duty-bound to hold onto the old Fogarty badge of honour.
Archaic language
From vows to “honour and obey” to stag weekend quips about the “ball and chain”, could we just not? The outdated “before and after” narrative suggesting the groom has one last chance to sow his proverbial oats, before he’s locked into the lifelong prison of marriage, is simply offensive to everyone involved. I would really hope my partner of 14 years isn’t only just committing himself to me now we’re engaged.
Silence from the women
If you think I’m not giving a speech at my own bloody wedding, you’d be gravely mistaken. But convention dictates only the best man, groom, and father of the bride get to take centre stage. What is that all about, eh? Frankly, I will be offering up the opportunity to all beloved women in my life to speak if they so wish. My wedding is not an episode of talkSPORT, nor is it the board room of most Fortune 500 companies. Women are welcome. Encouraged, even.
The disproportionate pat on the back
When we announced our engagement, it was celebrated in a way that surprised me. It was as though we’d achieved something insurmountable, or contributed to some grand cause in a meaningful way. In reality, we’re just lucky. We fell in love young, and have remained that way since. We make an effort to maintain our relationship, laugh often, and generally, enjoy each other’s company.
I don’t view marriage as an achievement. And yet, the response of pride trumped any academic or professional successes to date. Just something I find curious.
So what?
Given all these antiquated expectations around marriage, why are we even doing it?
Is it because marriage is just what you do at a certain age? Is it because it’s expected? Because we want a mega party? Because I reckon I’d look cracker in an expensive gown?
Well, yes, to all of the above. But they aren’t my primary reasons.
It’s true that I have experienced many feminist doubts throughout my engagement, plus an innate reluctance to lay down so much cash on a single day.
But ultimately, there’s so much negativity in life we can’t control. It can feel as though life is happening TO us, rather than by us, or for us. Loved ones die, illness strikes, jobs are lost, holidays are cancelled, toast gets burnt.
So, I think making the choice to get married can be a beautiful way of reclaiming the wonder of life. To pick a day, invite only the people you care about, and choose to celebrate your love, your partnership, for me, is an exercise in gratitude.
When you’re already in a long-term relationship, an engagement can feel like a reminder to not take each other for granted. It can focus the mind on numerous the reasons you’ve chosen to be together all these years.
I continue to remind myself that we can do away with all of those daft customs that hark from a different era. We can do it however we want.
I remind myself that planning shouldn’t be a stressor. It should be fun, like playing Sims, or constructing a pillow-lined fort under your bunk beds as a kid. Like counting down to a holiday, or organising a pal’s birthday party.
Perhaps being a feminist bride needn’t be a contradiction at all.
What do you think?