I finally got around to watching Of Gods and Men last night. This 2010 Cannes Grand Prix winner had me in tears for a good half-hour after it ended, and not just because of its inevitable, heart-wrenching ending (it’s based on the true story of a group of French monks being assassinated in Algeria in ’90s), but because it made me entirely rethink what the fuck I’m doing with my life. These men worried about courageously standing up for their community and beliefs in the face of paralyzing terror. I’m worried about making sure “I stay true to myself” while planning an extravagant one-day party in the face of an oft-nonsensical industry. One of these things is more important to humanity than the other…
God, I’m depressed…
Alas, feeling very small in the world today just reinforces my belief that so many things about wedding planning aren’t important. Like, colors, for example.
Thinking back to all the weddings I’ve ever been to, I can’t recall what any of the table settings looked like. That’s because no one cares. As long as you have a plate from which to eat some awesome food or a receptacle from which to sip some awesome booze, you’re good because, uh-no doy, it’s the food and booze that’s important, not the table setting.
And so, my fiance and I decided our wedding colors would be “whatever’s cheapest.” Of course, if you’re the caterer, that’s not really a useable answer because even if you choose the cheapest option (which isn’t actually cheap, by the way), you still have to choose from the bazillion, mostly awful, color arrays. Turns out baby-butt pink is the same price as plain old white. Luckily, because we both give approximately zero fucks about colors, our conversation the industry forced us to have went like this:
“What do you think about black and white?”
“Maybe throw in a bit of gold for shits and giggles? Mostly shits.”
“OK, sounds good.”
And that was that. I don’t have a Pinterest board filled with extravagant, inspirational table settings. I don’t feel the need to pay hundreds of dollars to rent mismatched plates that look intentionally old. (No really, that industry exists.) I don’t care because I know none of my guests will care. Ideally, they’ll be too loaded up on good food and booze to even see straight because the less money we spend on what’s on the table, the more money we spend on what’s on your plate and in your glass.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go devote at least a few of my brain cells into worrying about something less stupid than the wedding industry, like what inappropriately casual outfit I can wear to work or whose chain is cooler, mine or Riff Raff’s (answer: Riff Raff’s). And oh yeah, contemplating the meaning of life. Yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow when I talk about what shoes might go with my dress. (I’m awful.)