LAURIE: My approach to organizing my wedding planning has been sort of like when I was about eight years old and wanted to be a veterinarian. I thought I should prepare for it, but really didn’t know what to do, other than keep going to school. I taped some pictures of dogs onto the outside of a cardboard box and stuck it under my bed, silently vowing to deposit into it any relevant photographs or detritus that might contribute to my success as an animal doctor. I liked the idea of a completed collection of useful veterinary items. It never occurred to me to spend more time with our dogs and learn about their care. A few months later I decided to become a teacher, because I wanted to carry around a grade book with all of that accumulated information, not because I actually wanted to interact with and educate other human beings.
One evening a few weeks ago, I fortified myself with a strong cocktail and trundled off to the Barnes & Noble on Union Square, in search of some guidance. I knew what I didn’t want: anything that bore the imprint of Martha Stewart. And definitely no bridal magazines, with their 3 to 1 advertising-to-content ratio.
Looking now at the wedding planner I carried home that night, I am filled with regret. And by wedding planner I mean “a book full of lists and information”, not “an opportunistic person with so-called connections.” It’s a pink and spiral-bound book, full of faux-retro drawings of martini glasses and lipsticks and palm trees, and advice like “drink a lot of water” and “have tons of sex with your fiancé.” It’s been marketed as a non-traditional book for brides who want to forge their own paths. The front cover shows an “edgy” bride with a cocked eyebrow and an asymmetrical haircut, smirking slightly. It’s all very Bratz culture meets Pink, with a dash of the cranky redheaded lady from Sex and the City.
I am generally good at avoiding such pap, but submitted in a moment of weakness/optimism/Jack Daniels and fruit juice.