And here I’d been thinking that it was like sports–an excuse for the larger culture to do some sort of group hug. To bond over the Big Thingamabob of No Importance That Everyone’s Nonetheless Watching.
I gather that it’s very naughty of me indeed to not be following it, but the whole thing is so unseemly–a family made to suffer eternal fame for no good reason whatsoever, privacy stripped away, people gawking at them from all over the world. Grotesque and inhumane.
And at a wedding, no less. Gah.
I like going to weddings, and I enjoyed mine. But I hate the idea of them: all those resources wasted, people basically taken advantage of at an emotionally fragile time, the undercurrent of expectations in which the bride is supposed to work like a dog for two years to throw a party for the sake of other people, and then everyone else gets to pretend that it’s for her, and that her selfless act was somehow selfish.
That’s some twisted shit, but we’re simply not supposed to tell the truth about it.
I mean, I understand the old saying that “the wedding is for the friends and the family; the marriage is for you.” But people don’t really act like that at crunch time: girls and women should dial it back when they can. The whole phenomenon is sheer insanity. No one’s going to thank you for it, and your mother will only yell at you for mailing the invitations alphabetically, a few at a time, before work. (“How could you let your cousin think she wasn’t invited?”
“Didn’t it occur to her that her name starts with an ‘m,’ and her brother’s starts with an ‘h’?” And on and on it went . . . an etiquette minefield. For months.)
My husband expressed some appreciation, but he’s exceptional. In the larger culture, it’s pretty much a mind-fuck.
Yet if this mind-fucking is expensive and public enough, and the couple is gracious enough in surrendering its privacy–or if this occurs on the other side of the Atlantic–that supposedly makes it okay.
Here’s what I know about this wedding: I had vaguely thought that it was the younger brother who was marrying, but a remark made by a friend on FaceBook leads me to believe that it’s actually the older one. And if I need to know more, I can look it up.
For crying out loud, people: do it like JFK, Jr.–sneak away from the photographers. Have a small ceremony and a modest reception. And be happy.