Never have I entitled an article so literally. But I thought it was amusing, so, fuck it.
Despite gentle encouragement from my lovely bridesmaids, and Mother Teresa levels of patience towards my control issues and aversion to surprises, I’ve avoided hen party thoughts like a dirty pile of laundry.
The root of my reticence is three-fold:
I don’t drink. My body simply hates it. In recent years, I’ve decided it’s not worth the immediate reaction, or the inflammatory storm it brings afterwards. Socially speaking, it’s not a dream.
I live with a dynamic disability. This sounds cooler than it is. Some days I can work in a way that loosely resembles a healthy middle-aged person, and other days, I can’t walk without support.
I’m an introvert. Whilst I love connecting with others, and sharing quality time with the people I love, I absolutely need to retreat to recharge my batteries. Constant socialising is exhausting for me. Overwhelming at times.
Now, despite the above statements, I don’t consider myself boring.
I have plenty of quirks, which I like to think contribute to a somewhat interesting personality. I’ve been known to rotate hobbies like outfits, take on intense projects, dress with flamboyance, and subvert social expectations for better or worse. Characteristics ingrained, yet objectively, interesting.
Even if I do say so myself.
Unfortunately, the traditional hen party sits more in the category of wild than interesting.
Chat to people about this, and they’ll typically offer you the opposing extreme.
‘How about a nice little tea party?’ they’ll say.
I love cake as much as the next gal, but not for my hen party.
Baby shower? Yes.
Birthday party? Maybe.
But hen party? No, thanks.
Infusing personality into a hen party without centring it around booze and strippers is an apparent oversight in the online world of bachelorette planning.
The middle ground is all a bit vanilla. Either very corporate retreat-esq escape rooms, baking tents that inject the fear of God into my soul, or a contradictory afternoon “brunch” featuring nearly-naked waiters.
I’m no prude. But I am a socially awkward introvert with trust issues. So, the thought of a stranger serving me poached eggs and mocktails with barely a stitch over his meatballs and spaghetti could cause me to break out in hives. No exaggeration.
Classic hen parties also tend to come with sensory overload. Jam-packed schedules, lots of time on your feet, accompanied by loud music, bright lights, and barely a second to collect your thoughts. Challenging on a good day – a circumstance I can never guarantee.
Which brings me onto my fourth, more insidious reason for delaying hen party planning: insecurity.
My entire aura reeks of apology. I never ask for help. I hate placing expectations on others. I’m genuinely surprised when friends remember my birthday. The idea of a celebration built around me makes me want to cancel my wedding and elope. And the thought of anyone spending money to celebrate me makes me want to give them my car and say sorry.
It takes me to my innermost worries of being a chronic outcast, a weird shy girl that nobody likes. Outwardly speaking, this has never been my experience. But internally, I’ve felt this throughout my life. Show me a nineties kid who isn’t a little bit fucked up though, eh?
I’m working on it. I swear.
I say this, not for sympathy or placation (please don’t), but because I believe I’m not the only one who’s felt this way. It can be hard to put such fears into words without sounding a bit, well, dramatic. Especially when there are usually bigger things to worry about.
It seems there are lots of reasons not to bother with a hen party.
But I don’t want to miss out on the opportunity for such a unique ritualistic celebration with the fabulous women in my life either.
I don’t want the monkey on my shoulder to win the day.
Instead, perhaps we can chuck out the rule book. Perhaps it’s possible sculpt a weekend more reflective of me. Something that will serve the ladies in my life too.
So, re-focusing on potential options, I wonder what kind of event could I embrace? What aspects of myself am I more willing to claim?
You may have guessed, but at my core, I’m a total hippie.
My idea of fun is kicking back around a fire pit, laughing until my stomach aches, throwing some food on the BBQ, with Patti Smith playing through the speakers. It’s sharing secrets under the stars, with a bag of chocolate buttons and jelly snakes. It’s picnics in the sun, stroking horses over a fence, dressing in hardcore vintage almost to the point of fancy dress, and doing yoga outdoors.
Give me a woodland walk, Fleetwood Mac, and a decaf mocha over an all-night rave any day.
I’m beyond caring if that sounds lame.
I reckon most people reach the same conclusions at some point in their lives: that simple pleasures are best. Perhaps I’ve reached it a little early.
Luckily, ideas are forming. They involve neither a three-day bender, nor a tea cosy or finger sandwiches.
Watch this space.
Two wedding posts in a row? I know, I’m insufferable. I’ll change it up next time, I promise.
How do you feel about hen parties? As bride or guest? Do they need an update? What’s the best you’ve been to?
Let’s chat in the comments.