Yet Another Confession About Weddings

Our theme for the month of June is “confessions.”

In the last twenty-one days, the post calvin has published three pieces in which people confess things about weddings, which isn’t a lot, but it is weird that it happened three times.

Buckle up folks: I hope you’re not bored, because it’s time for a fourth.

Confession: I am scared of weddings.

I saw a wedding magazine for the first time in my stylistics and discourse analysis class with Kristine Johnson. We were studying figured worlds, a concept in discourse analysis used to understand identity and agency.  Figured worlds are “socially produced and culturally constructed activities” (Holland et al, 40-41).

Basically, figured worlds are stories we tell (and participate in) about what is normal, particularly regarding certain processes and traditions. Examples include the expected life path of a woman in Nepal, romance or therapy in the United States, and, of course, weddings.

Sitting in CFAC 254 with stacks upon stacks of wedding magazines, my classmates and I tried to identify how these magazines both entered into and also composed the figured world of weddings. What kinds of physical paraphernalia were necessary for a wedding? What were the assumptions about value? About position or identity? What was the “normal” story?

There’s a bride, a groom, a white dress, a tux. (No groom and groom, or bride and bride, and certainly no spouse and spouse.) Women are doing most of the planning; it should be the happiest day of her life, and she absolutely requires this particular brand of makeup, because it will make her beautiful. They are all white and slim. The decorations matter—the flowers, the colors, the tablecloths—and you certainly don’t want anything tacky.

In sum, appearance (both physically and culturally) is of utmost importance, and happiness (or the appearance of happiness) is a prime value.

I laughed at these magazines, and implicitly, at the women who read them, until this year. Two of my friends are getting married in the next six months.

I’m a bridesmaid in one of these weddings, so I’ve had an up-close and personal look at the wedding planning process—retaining a photographer, choosing flowers, a venue, colors. Now, this wedding is somewhat different from the ones depicted in the magazines. My friend cares little about aesthetics and she has realistic expectations: a wedding should be the lovely first day of a marriage, not a happy ending. I think she and her fiancé spent the most time on the order of service, the wording of the vows, and the intention behind the ceremony.

And yet also, it’s still firmly within the figured world of a wedding; these patterns are, to some degree, inescapable. Last week, after church, I was measuring tables for tablecloths.

I think the urge to categorize opinions about weddings as confessions is largely rooted in the event’s status as an emotionally complex event, and yet a strong, relatively uniform, figured world. The patterns, rituals, and objects that describe what a wedding ought to look like are so firmly entrenched in our (Christian ring-by-spring) culture that it can feel “wrong” or disrespectful in some way—and therefore confession-worthy—to mock, or discard, or criticize those traditions. Furthermore, we love the people (or are the people) getting married, and a wedding day is supposed to be their (our) happiest day. Because of this happiness expectation, if happiness is not the only thing one is feeling, the complex emotions can be guilt-inducing. Said guilt precipitates confession.

Confession: I am scared of weddings.

I am scared of weddings because they are a marker of change: change in lifestage, change in relationship with family, friends, and partner, change in circumstance. I am scared of my best friend’s wedding because her life is changing in a way mine is not, and I don’t know how to adapt accordingly.

I am scared of weddings because they highlight my own insecurities, insecurities about organizational abilities, insecurities about physical appearance, insecurities about family dynamics. I am scared of my own wedding—nebulous and certainly not even close to imminent—because I am insecure about my own ability to enter into and perform the traditional role of bride; I do not know how I want to construct that role for myself.

So, my confession is a confession because I feel guilty. I should (giant air quotes) be only happy and excited for my best friend’s wedding, and I should (giant air quotes again) be anticipating my own, hopefully eventual, wedding with only excitement and joy.

To let go of the guilt, I must first let go of the shoulds. It’s a long process, letting go of should, especially for my black-and-white thinking, achievement-oriented self.

But I’m learning that I can live in hopeful anticipation of the time when I may get married while also being nervous about the practical and philosophical specifics. I am learning to be both scared and overjoyed about my best friend’s wedding.

I will be scared and overjoyed on August 2 as I give a brief, heartfelt speech while wearing a pretty dress (color: dusty blue) in our church’s basement, tastefully decorated with wildflowers and colored tablecloths.