I am not married. I am not engaged. I’m not even dating anyone. (If you have someone to set me up with, please reach out at abbey.caldwell@gmail.com). Nevertheless, there’s one thing I know for sure about my future wedding: married people will not get automatic plus-ones.
As a 35-year-old single woman (Disgusting! Stone her!), I have both attended and been in a lot of weddings. But contrary to where you might think I’m going with this, I am not one of those cool-girl rom-com heroines who hates them. I love weddings! I love bachelorette parties! And I genuinely love being a bridesmaid. I really value my friendships and feel honored to play such an important part in a friend’s special day. I even like wearing a matching dress I didn’t choose. It makes me feel better than everyone else at the reception. Add in an open bar and pass-around charcuterie cones and you’ll have to drag me out of this carpeted country-club ballroom!
But here’s the thing: I’ve never, ever been given a plus-one. Not even by my own sister, for whom I was the maid of honor. (Which, to be fair, actually ended up working out for me. I went home with the hot best man. But still.) I’m not trying to make the people whose weddings I’ve attended feel guilty. Wedding planning is stressful and overwhelming. I get it. Budgets balloon, family politics abound, and for some reason your dad invited his fraternity brother he ran into at Whole Foods yesterday. It’s difficult to decide where to draw the line between who does and does not get to bring a date. Wedding party only? Couples who have been dating for six months or more? “No ring, no bring?” Unless you have an unlimited budget, you can’t give everyone a plus-one; that would literally double your guest list.
So I have a revolutionary idea: how about you draw the line at “people I give a shit about?” That means, yes, your husband of 15 years whom I met once at a Christmas party doesn’t make the cut, while my downstairs neighbor’s girlfriend of three months whom I spent all summer drinking hard kombucha at the pool with does. This makes perfect sense to me.
For me, a wedding is a party. A really fun, meaningful party that I want my closest friends and family to attend. And—I say this with love—your husband is not my close friend. He’s great! I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. But it’s been limited. We’ve never even lived in the same city. I have several friends whose husbands are dear friends. I look forward to having them at my black-tie wedding in the woods. (The setting will provide a breathtaking contrast to the attire. Just trust me, it’s gonna be beautiful.) But if you want your husband there, he better start putting in some face time. Because if I’m having an intimate, 75-person wedding and my dead father’s best friend is number 75, I’m not cutting him so you can bring Steve.
“But he’s my husband,” you say. “You need to respect the sanctity of marriage.”
I assure you, I do. I can only hope my future marriage is half as sanctified as yours. But your marriage has absolutely nothing to do with me. Getting married was your choice. Who I invite to my wedding is mine. Can you and Steve not spend a single weekend apart? Can you not get on a plane without him? What’s going to happen if you do? Didn’t you take vows? Or did yours include “till college friend’s wedding do us part”?
Maybe it’s not about spending a night or two away from your spouse. Maybe it’s an etiquette thing. Perhaps you feel it’s disrespectful to your guests to exclude their spouses. O.K., sure. But why is that? Is it because you’ll feel uncomfortable being alone at an event attended primarily by couples? Because you’ll need to time your bathroom breaks to fall during slow songs so you can quietly disappear while everyone else sways in the arms of their partners? Or, better yet, during fast songs so you can avoid the inevitable “Come dance with us!” pity invite from your co-worker and her husband?
Gosh, I can’t imagine what that would feel like.
At this point in my argument, here’s what most people—single and married alike—usually say with a weary sigh: “You have a point. But … it’s just what’s done.” First of all, what dignified language from someone I once watched do blow off a Thunder Down Under dancer’s happy trail at her bachelorette party. Second: I am so exhausted by trying to explain to you how heartbreaking, isolating, and dehumanizing it is to be a single person who wants to be partnered in a world designed for couples. And this isn’t me trying to punish you for having something I want. It’s me trying to do one thing to prioritize my needs in a world that’s prioritized yours since the beginning of this messed-up, matri-maniacal society we live in. If that doesn’t sit well with you, feel free to tick off the “regretfully declines” box on my tastefully embossed wedding invitations made from reclaimed redwoods native to the enchanted forest I’m getting married in. (You can plant them after and they’ll grow into trees.)
And hey, look on the bright side: you have a free weekend now. Use all that money you saved by filing a joint tax return to take a trip that has nothing to do with me. Don’t forget your husband! I know heaven and earth would cease to exist if you spent a night apart.
Also, while we’re here? Steve sucks.
Abbey Caldwell is a TV writer in Los Angeles
