A lesbian couple has a glamorous wedding at New York’s Gotham Hall. Read their love story here.
Since getting my big lesbian ass engaged to my lovely bisexual fiancee, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about catering menus and precise shades of ivory and the relative merits of chiffon and organza. I have not spent much time plotting to overthrow the patriachal heteronormative hegemony that is the wedding-industrial complex. Woosh! Out the window goes the politics, in comes massive spreadsheets tracking my shoe options by price, color, and heel height.
Wedding planning is a weird intoxicant, and I’ve found myself lately doing many things I’d have absolutely scorned a few years ago. To that I say fuck you, past self! I used to unconsciously dismiss things because they were overtly feminine, and learning to embrace and value the feminine for itself rather than in comparison to the masculine is a big part of my personal journey as a feminist and a queer person.
So yeah, my wedding’s going to have a lot of traditional elements. My bride and I will wear floofy dresses and eat cake and dance the night away. There won’t be any bullshitty fathers handing over custody of their daughters or any of the other sexist and problematic wedding traditions I detest, but at a glance my Big Gay Wedding will look pretty similar to that Sacred Institution of Traditional Marriage our detractors love to blather on about. And guess what? This isn’t assimilation, this isn’t betrayal of the queer community, this is my fucking party and I’ll have impeccable floral arrangements if I want to.
We ain’t picture perfect, but we are worth the picture still. My wife, my lover, my best friend of 7yrs and I.
You are the love of my life. My soulmate. My breath, my heart, my pulse.