Initially, when Anna and I decided to attend New York Magazine's Weddings Showcase, we figured it would be a great opportunity to make fun of all the maniacal brides-to-be, harried maids of honor and opinionated mothers looking for chic and modern ways to piss away $100K on a party celebrating a union that has less than a 50% chance of actually going the distance. But (not so) secretly, I loved it. That shit was open bar! And there were awesome hors d'oeuvres! And so much cake! And ice cream sandwiches on popsicles! And a kickass goodie bag! Now I want to get married! (Joke.) But seriously, for those looking to get drunk, stuff their faces and get a kickass goody bag, $25 is a small price to pay. After the jump, all the things we saw in the shuffling sea of brides wearing Tory Burch ballet flats.
So, I went to this thing with Anna. I'm a confirmed bachelorette, and although Anna is engaged, she's forgoing the big wedding thing in favor of eloping. Needless to say, we walked in there a leetle bit biased, which didn't help matters when the first thing I set my eyes on was this NYC trash can, tastefully lined with linen.
I mean, come on. Was it really that much of an eyesore? On the other hand, I wonder if it was some kind of subliminal message like, "See, we can turn trash into class. Let us do that to you!"
Speaking of trash, when I went into the bathroom, I saw this:
Yeah, that's period blood, folks. At least whomever it was won't be having to shop in the maternity section for her white dress.
Okay, so maybe it was the free booze and food, but I sorta loved the whole thing. I was super hungry, and they had these miniburgers and little lobster cups and some kind of cured meat roll. At one point, when I was at one of the cake tasting stations, shoveling a slice of chocolate and strawberry heaven into my mouth, I dropped a chunk on the table. I picked it up, with every intention of putting it in my mouth, but the woman working the booth kinda gave me a look like, "Please don't," so I handed it over to her and she disposed of it.
So here's what struck me most about the whole event: On one side of the room, there were services offering pre-wedding diet plans and food delivery services so that brides can, as the David Kirsch brochure proclaimed,"feel like the most beautiful woman in the room". On the other side, there were catering companies. The diet tables were empty. Everyone was mobbing the the lobster cup lady. (She also had green gazpacho.)
At one table, a group of women were giving out promotional T-shirts and boxers for whatever service they provide. [Wedding dress design. -Ed.] We tried to get one, but they only had XS available. It turns out that wedding showcases are just as confusing when it comes to the expectations of body image as, well, anything else in life, really. All the dresses on the racks were size 0 as well.
This was kinda awesome. They had free massages:
And they had this photo booth there, as an idea of something brides can rent for their receptions:
The goodie bag was sick, full of all kinds of beauty products from Redken and Crabtree & Evelyn, a cake server from Oneida, a bottle opener that looked like a shoe, lots of gift certificates, and a free session of ballroom dancing lessons.
The most ridiculous person we talked to had to be the woman from Disney's Couture Wedding Collection, a destination wedding service provided by Disney for which they put together cookie-cutter wedding packages at one of their Florida resorts. The package includes decorations, food, and rental of the space. It does not include the price of a dress, or anyone's hotel rooms. (The Disney rep also made no mention of booze, so it's probably an add-on.) The starting price for a destination wedding for you and 50 friends? $75,000. I think I deserved a goddamn medal for not laughing in that lady's face right there.
So, did going to the Weddings Showcase change my mind about having a big special day of my own? I mean, I doubt I'll ever find that kind of money to spend on getting my idiot friends drunk for one night. (Especially when Jell-O shots with Georgi vodka tend to do the trick quite well.) But my motto in life is never say never, because I always said I'd never have anal sex, and well, now sometimes I do. So maybe one day, I'll suddenly decide I want to spend my life with one person and have a big open bar party to celebrate that. Hey, it couldn't hurt much more than getting fucked in the ass.