Covid weddings: French fashion bride Camille Charrière on getting (logistical) cold feet and the joyous absurdities of tying the knot
Planning a pandemic-era wedding is an emotional and logistical nightmare, but it’s also the kind of celebration we need now more than ever.
I am terrible at logistics. It’s a running joke among those who know me that I shouldn’t be let anywhere near a diary. Ever. I’ll either double-book you, forget, or show up on time at the wrong address. Let me caveat that my abysmal logistical brain is not something I am proud of. Neither is it a reflection on how much a commitment means to me. I often joke that if left to my own devices, I would show up at the wrong church for my own wedding. So, to cut my losses I got engaged to a film producer. He proposed during ‘golden hour’, aka that brief period of respite in between lockdowns last year, when most of us still thought that second waves and variants were nothing but pessimistic hearsay. We had a date, a location and a ton of optimism. The way I saw it, having one operational brain between the two of us would solve all my nuptial woes.
It would, at the very least, guarantee we send out a straightforward ‘save the date’ to all our guests – unlike the last dinner party I hosted, where I inadvertently invited half my friends on one day, and the other half for the next. Nevertheless, I was determined not to make a mess of the ‘happiest day of my life’ (ahem). I naively assumed tying the knot with a highly organised fellow – a professional planner, as I like to see it – would ensure a smooth operation for all involved. How very wrong I was. A reliable ‘save the date’ is such a thing of the past. Like with almost every recently engaged couple, Covid threw a massive spanner in our wedding works.
Though it was not so much of a spanner, as a high-velocity curveball. That’s how I think all of us felt trying to organise our big day: out-of-breath, out-of-pocket, pissed off and ready to walk away from the dang game … as opposed to happily down the aisle. I was vaguely aware from speaking to frazzled friends that betrothed couples BC* (*before Covid) had to perform an exhausting dance; a whirlwind of an orchestration to synchronise a busy town hall/church/mosque/ synagogue with chosen venues, caterers and overbooked bridesmaids.
But these days, it’s all obstacles and no solutions. Key steps were now illegal. It sounds so dystopian when you say it out loud, doesn’t it? But you’re not planning a wedding if no one is allowed to travel or meet up, let alone leave the house. I spoke to so many wannabe-just-married folk who felt emotionally and financially drained after pouring their time, heart and soul into planning a fabulous day, only to see it moved. First once. Then twice.
To make things worse, we still have no visibility on when the world might allow for us to start planning properly again. Many bridezillas hung up their claws and gave up altogether. A few eloped. Some settled for smaller, socially distanced gatherings, without elder family or friends from overseas present – but even that was only possible in countries like Australia where the pandemic has been more contained. To put things in perspective, I only know two couples who got married over the past year and a half, and have only one invite for the future. Which, given my age (my mid-30s, aka peak ‘I do’ time), says a lot.
That brings me to the big question I have been asking myself for months, as my fiance and I watch each tentative ceremony evaporate before our eyes. Does saying “I do” in front of a sea of familiar faces a marriage make? Why is it we still feel the need to plan gigantic gatherings that take over our lives and wallets, instead of focusing on sharing the moment with the person we are promising our future to? Am I a narcissist for wanting so badly for my big day to go ahead? Judging by the number of times my mother has asked if we have a(nother) date in the diary, it’s not just me who desperately wants weddings to go ahead like they used to.
Sometimes I think a wedding is basically just a big fun party. But it’s also so much more than that. You don’t need a ceremony to commit to someone. Even I can see that. Rituals are a huge part of life, and very reassuring, too, especially in tough times such as these. They give a deeper meaning to our roller-coaster of a journey – and, boy, has 2021 been one hell of a ride. They allow us to pause and celebrate the things that matter. But a champagne-drenched sunset in Lake Como featuring gram-able chocolate fountains, a string quartet playing Billie Eilish and three outfit changes do not equal a meaningful union.
If anything, I am grateful to the pandemic for helping me see that the backdrop and details don’t matter. Truly, they don’t. But getting my people together to mark this special occasion still does. Perhaps even more so! I’d settle for anything at this point, just as long as I can guarantee we all be in the same space and able to embrace.
The author and self-proclaimed love guru Dolly Alderton recently reminded us nothing represents the freedom of BC life better than a wedding: “Train journeys, tightly packed churches, hundreds of fingers diving into a platter of food in miniature, crowded dance floors, hugging elderly relatives, scooping up excitable children, sharing lipstick in a Portaloo, shagging someone you met three hours previously on the bonnet of a car.” These are the things I have missed, and the reason why I shall continue to defend the importance of getting my nearest and dearest in the same room to hear me say “I do”.
I’ll be damned if I can’t watch my favourite aunt totter around, drunk on life and Moët as my maid of honour convinces her to attempt the WAP for TikTok, while my new husband breakdances with someone I went to school with and two friends who just met are snogging in the corner. This is pure fluff, of course, and that’s also what weddings are for. The memories, the laughs, the joy and absurdity of it all.
An intimate communion of all the people in your life who matter. I’d do anything to experience this alongside my other half. I’ll wait for as long as it takes and promise to show up on the right day. I might even help with some of the planning.
This article appears in the July issue of Vogue Australia, on sale now.