The sound of your alarm awakens you from your slumber, jolting you back into a dreary reality. Today is the day you attend the wedding you’ve been invited to.
You don’t know exactly why you’ve been invited; you met the groom at a three-day conference trip at a dilapidated hotel in Brighton. He claims that you are one of his good friends but all you remember was getting a bit tipsy with him at the company’s cheese and wine night. He’s a bit unbearable if you’re honest but he insisted that you attend his special day.
You make the four hour drive up to the venue, crammed into a suffocating suit, with a gardenia placed in its lapel (an instruction from the bride herself), intended to symbolise the ever-blossoming love between the happy couple. You notice that it’s beginning to wilt.
Due to a pile up on the motorway, you barely make it to the ceremony in time and are forced to sit at the back of the chapel, already beginning to overheat in your suit due to the blaring sun. The choice of venue came as a bit of a surprise; you thought the groom was an atheist. It does look pretty though. The place is absolutely packed, with guests enthusiastically greeting each other with elaborately saccharine grins; thank goodness you don’t know any of them.
As the bride makes her way to the ceremony, you notice a gruff looking man swigging something from a hip flask. The mothers are wearing hats that look like nursery art projects on acid and are already crying into their handkerchiefs. The plethora of bridesmaids are all begrudgingly wearing matching summer dresses with bushy polyester tulle that looks like a kitschy reinvigoration of the 1980s (not in a good way). The groomsmen all decided to colour co-ordinate in lime green suits and sunglasses. They all smugly think they look effortlessly cool but instead look more like a low-rate version of the Blues Brothers.
The deafening chords of the ‘Bridal Chorus’ begin to play, making everyone rush to their seats. The bride enters, wearing what looks as though Vera Wang attempted to remake Princess Diana’s famous wedding dress. The page boy almost stumbles over the train. You hide a snigger; maybe there will be some amusement today after all.
During the service, the Vicar somehow manages to turn the couple’s first meeting along the hard shoulder of the M6 toll into a thirty-minute story about fate, the father of the bride reads the prologue of Romeo and Juliet and the hymn selection includes a choral rendition of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’ and Ellie Goulding’s ‘Love Me Like You Do’. The vows and gaudy rings are finally exchanged and the couple is showered with some kitschy cherub shaped confetti. You speed off to the reception, already dreading the social interaction you will have to partake in. Hopefully it will be bearable; the invite did state that it would be held at a highly reputable establishment.
One hour later, you are in the back room of a Brewer’s Fayre sitting next to Great Aunt Mildred, who is already beginning to get a bit frisky after consuming a few too many G&Ts. Meanwhile, Gary, who fixed the grouting in the happy couple’s bathroom at a discounted rate, is trying to talk to you about the poor plastering work on the ceiling. You consider necking back some of the champagne but then remember you have to drive.
You nibble away on questionable vegan cocktail sausages and mini quiches as the speeches are made. You force out some canned laughter as the best man tells a story about the groom stealing a mannequin from Primark after consuming 5 litres of WKD, painfully smile your way through the couple’s first dance to Ed Sheeran’s ‘Thinking Out Loud’ and wish you’d bought ear plugs when the Mamma Mia megamix begins to play and all of the guests suddenly believe they belong on the West End. After ‘Mr. Brightside’ almost makes you rip out your ears, you thank the newlyweds, begrudgingly accept a slice of stale looking wedding cake and make your way back home.
As you are stuck in another traffic jam, a torrential downpour of rain begins. Foreshadowing perhaps? One can only hope.
If the previous description didn’t make it clear, the idea of a wedding fills me with an existential level of dread and terror. It’s a whole day (or sometimes even multiple days) of enforced celebration where you have to listen to cringe-filled speeches, declarations of love, dance to unbearably loud music compiled by a self-professed ‘professional’ DJ and munch your way through a menu consisting of rubbery chicken wrapped in bacon and a lukewarm chocolate brownie. To make matters worse you have to do all of this whilst being surrounded by total strangers and family members you can’t stand, who get apoplectically drunk and inevitably stir up some deep-seated family drama that you somehow get roped into.
I just don’t get the appeal. Why make such a big deal about an event that causes so much stress and anxiety? Why spend such an eye watering fortune on a day that rather than making you believe in love, makes you wish that perhaps it never existed at all?
If I (ever) get married this is how the ceremony will pan out: sign the piece of paper at the registry office, eat the ham and cheese sandwiches, distribute the slices of Colin the Caterpillar and cups of tea (or coffee) and say goodbye. I wouldn’t ask for any gifts or charitable donations, the guests will already be going through enough.
Quite frankly, the only wedding I would ever enjoy attending is Alice and Hugo’s from The Vicar of Dibley. I mean, Teletubbies as bridesmaids? Yes, please!
So, given my pessimistic view towards the seeming romance of weddings, I was somewhat baffled and downright perplexed when I received an invite to a fake one. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Considering that my friends and I have just finished a theatre degree, we are in desperate need of some drama in our lives, and nothing is perhaps more elaborately theatrical and melodramatic than a staged wedding.
After sceptically accepting the invite, I was added to a What’s App group with all of the other guests where we were assigned a role for the day (ranging from the vicar to the weird uncle), all of which came with character descriptions and tasks that we had to try and do during the event. I had basically signed myself up to a big game of improv…OR a big improvised game of Cluedo (just without the murder mystery part).
And how did it pan out exactly? Allow me to set the scene…
Playing the role of the jaded and bitter ex I stood on a grassy knoll, moaning about the ineptitude of the groom and questioning why I had even been invited, as scorching rays of sunshine beamed down. Whilst waiting for the bride to arrive the guests made awkward small talk: the groomsmen nattered away about their stag-do in Bali, the mother of the groom boasted about the fortune she spent for the wedding festivities and Uncle Adam wandered around with a big stick whilst grating carrots and dipping them in hummus. The bridal party arrived fashionably (or rather far too) late, with the bride herself wearing a billowing floral dress, radiating a beauteous glow. As we took our seats, the sister of the bride made her detest for the groom visibly known, criticising him at every opportunity.
During the vows, the lovestruck couple, Nellanthea and Ethan, gushed about their powerful and long-lasting romance, which had begun only two days previously at a Sainsbury’s petrol pump. After singing ‘Lord of the Dance’, selected by Ben the DJ, the couple were pronounced husband and wife and were showered with bubbles (which I will now view as a superior alternative to confetti) and the ceremony, much to the relief of the Vicar, who spent most of the day looking as though they would rather be anywhere else, was over.
After begrudgingly taking pictures, we decided to convene at the pub for a few tipples. Everyone watched fixatedly as Uncle Adam and Aunty Morgana reunited for the first time after their divorce (The breakdown of their marriage began after the creation of a family tree on ancestry.co.uk led to the discovery that they were long lost cousins). After awkwardly slurping our drinks, it was time for the reception.
Decorated with a beautiful banner celebrating the newlyweds, the reception also featured a vast buffet featuring the finest selection of artisan meats, cheeses, breads and salads (hastily purchased by many guests from the Sainsbury’s Local).
As the lethal cocktails (made by an unqualified bartender) took effect and guests were stuffed to the brim with food, we all sat for the speeches. The maid of honour made it halfway through their speech before crying, the best man drunkenly admitted to sexual relations with the groom and the father of the bride launched a diatribe against their new son in law. The celebrations concluded with the cutting of the cake (which had slowly begun to collapse) and dancing to throwback pop hits and a game of Britain’s Got Talent. The reception proved to be a scandalous and salacious affair; akin to the elaborate drama of Bridgerton (just on a student budget).
After thanking the exhausted wedding planners, I slowly sauntered home, a huge grin on my face.
Now before you get ahead of yourself, don’t worry, I still shiver at the thought of a wedding.
But a fake wedding? Now that’s another matter entirely.
By attending a fake wedding, I was able play a game of a make believe, experience the love, dancing and drunkenness of a wedding without spending a penny, travelling a long distance or worrying about being thrust into any long-standing family drama. Rather than spending a day with unbearable strangers and relatives I was able to have a wonderfully beautiful day of chaos whilst being surrounded by the most fantastic group of people I know.
It made me think…
Instead of waiting for our big day to arrive, shelling out a monstrous sum of money for ugly gold leaf embossed invitations, a dreary reception and a stale fruit cake, instead of forcing yourself to benevolently smile at relatives you could feel close to throttling, why don’t we just have a wedding now? Bogged down within the monotonous rut of everyday life, we often don’t allow ourselves to have childish, mindless fun. So wouldn’t it be great if we all just played a big game of make-believe?
The possibilities are endless. What about staging a summer wedding, a Christmas wedding, the next royal wedding or even one themed around Star Wars! Just let your imagination run wild in any way that takes your fancy!
Of course, if the idea of a fake wedding doesn’t arouse any feelings of excitement, you could do something else entirely. From a fake conference, christening, trial, graduation or even your own funeral, the possibilities are endless. (Don’t ask why but I have written my own eulogy, which proved to be a truly rewarding and cathartic experience).
Instead of waiting for life to happen what if we make it happen? I think the world would be a much better place if we just had mindless fun and allowed ourselves to see the simple beauteous joys that can be found in the every day.
So, stage a wedding…what else have you got left to lose?
