America, Britain, and the language of weddings

It’s often said that the US and the UK are two countries divided by a common language, and there’s no more emotional language than the lexicon of weddings.

Weddings have their own vocabulary: breakfasts (which are really dinners), bouquets, buttonholes, best men, bridesmaids; and their own expectations. “A little pop of colour” from a wedding florist probably means something luminous and large. “A quick run through the timings” means you’ll be at the table for the next hour and a half. “A couple of group shots” from a photographer means at least 30 minutes, four offended family members, a narrowly avoided fight and a half-ruined bridal gown.

Once you enter into the world of wedding language, it’s hard to remember a time when “breakfast” meant cornflakes, “getting ready” meant rolling out of bed and taking a shower, and “documentary-style candid videographer” meant nothing at all.

All of this gets even more complicated when you add in transatlantic translations. This week, we received an apologetic text from an American friend invited to our wedding in October that said: “I’m so sorry I don’t think I can travel up for the festivities the night before. I’ll only be able to come to the wedding on the day.” E and I looked at the text, puzzled. Were there festivities the night before our wedding which we were unaware of? Had the friend expected something more?

A conversation with another American set us straight. The friend in question had been expecting we’d hold a rehearsal dinner, a long dinner the night before the wedding that is traditional in America and usually paid for by the groom’s parents to even out the general expenditure (considering it’s traditional for the bride’s family to cover the wedding day proper.)

We were stunned to hear that the bridal party and a smattering of special guests were expected to make an appearance – and even make speeches – the night before the ceremony. Who wants to turn up to a wedding hungover and barely able to string a sentence together? “People are able to limit themselves to one glass of wine over dinner,” said my American friend when I made that point, rolling her eyes. “Which people?” I responded. Clearly this was an example of an insurmountable transatlantic divide.

Other cultural expectations are worse. A rehearsal dinner is, at best, a nice way to see your guests and let them meet one another ahead of the big day. At worst, it’s a danger zone for those prone to overindulgence. But the American tradition of smushing cake into one another’s faces after cutting it left me in a cold sweat. For the first time in my life, I’m going to fork out Actual Money to get someone to do my make-up professionally. A couple of hours later, I’m supposed to let my new husband force impacted raisins into my eyes? Granted, US weddings tend to favour sponge cakes, which are a little more suited and less lethal than traditional British fruitcakes with the consistency of cement. You’re certainly less likely to get a split lip if your spouse presses whipped cream into your face. But I wouldn’t be thrilled about getting any kind of food smeared across me at an event where I’ve paid for a professional photographer, a hairstylist and a ridiculously overpriced dress I can only wear once. Luckily, my fiancé is enough of a diva that he can’t imagine doing the same in his tailored suit, so that one’s off the cards.

Finally, there’s the worst few: the garter (a French and sometimes American tradition that involves the groom getting underneath the bride’s dress in front of her entire family and extracting bits of lingerie with his teeth. No thanks, Sigmund Freud); and the father-daughter and mother-son dance. Whoever decided this deeply psychologically unsettling tradition should take centre stage at the beginning of the reception had issues. And while American daughters may have been brought up to expect that their daddies would sweep them across the dance floor on their wedding days, my anarcho-communist father would balk at the suggestion — thank God.

There are some beloved British traditions I’m happy to let go of: the “giving away” stuff, throwing my bouquet to a bunch of women supposedly desperate to get married themselves, a strict top table plan which doesn’t take into account my family’s multiple marriages and complicated nature. But there are others you can claw out of my cold, dead hands. “Airport time” at weddings, for instance, wherein you’re allowed to drink alcohol from the moment you wake up to the moment you drop onto whatever floor or bed you can find. Now, there’s a fine tradition. America, take note.