For richer, for poorer – An Irishwoman’s Diary on the modern wedding

“Then there’s the photographer, videographer, DJ, fake tan, shellac nails, selfie mirror, clown, and cartoonist for the kids”
“Then there’s the photographer, videographer, DJ, fake tan, shellac nails, selfie mirror, clown, and cartoonist for the kids”

It is my morning mantra as the big day fast approaches: I must be mindful. I must remember I am a mere mother of the bride (MOB) in the corporate convolutions of the eldest princess’s upcoming nuptials.

That used to mean flower-arranging and snuffled sniffles into a lace handkerchief when the daddy did the deed and gave "his little girl" away on the edge of the altar. Dowries had been dispensed with by the time I walked the plank in the shoulder-padded 1980s. There was no fatted calf needed to dispatch the daughter at that stage in the evolutionary development of Ireland.

My big day seems so simple now. It was east meets west. Dublin meets offshore islanders in a sylvan setting in a Co Mayo hotel.

The craic was mighty even if my more refined relatives were a tad shocked by some of the shenanigans. (I suppose the late island philosopher Michael Joe O’Malley swigging out of a bottle of Glenfiddich whisky outside the church may have offended certain sensibilities. Fortunately, the shape of his handlebar moustache deflected the cultural clash somewhat.)

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“You have to pay the priest.” (The best man’s whisper echoed up the aisle.)

The survey says the band costs a cool €2,000 spondulix , at least. No need for a cover rendition of Dire Straits' <em>Money for Nothing</em> then

“What? I thought volunteerism was what vocations were all about.”

“Here, you need to carry this bouquet of flowers. It will enhance your dress.”

“So what if it was borrowed. It’s white, isn’t it?”

What has happened in the interim? Was it the Celtic Tiger that caused wedding days to become financial nooses that strangle loved-up couples for the foreseeable future?

The average Irish wedding now costs over €26,000, according to a recent survey by weddingsonline.

In the good old days that would have been a deposit for a house; a nest-egg for the grandchildren.

This figure includes an average honeymoon spend of over €5,000 (which must be to Bali or somewhere exotic) while the venue, usually a hotel, costs almost €12,500.

The survey of 1,200 participants, carried out in January, states that the average wedding cost last year increased 7 per cent from 2016 with 60 per cent of couples admitting they had gone over budget. That’s all fine for the 22 per cent whose parents are in a position to help foot the bill but what about the 62 per cent who have to use their savings or, moreover, the 18 per cent who have to get a loan?

Remember the age of those tying the knot in Ireland has increased exponentially with brides and grooms now in their mid-30s before they marry. That means they could still be paying off their weddings by the time they retire.

But back to the bill. The survey says the band costs a cool €2,000 spondulix , at least. No need for a cover rendition of Dire Straits' Money for Nothing then.

Then there’s the photographer, videographer, DJ, fake tan, shellac nails, selfie mirror, clown, and cartoonist for the kids.

There I mingled with an army of matriarchs as I preened like a peacock in front of long mirrors while an assistant with most interesting eyebrows 'oohed and aahed'

We are not talking about “a big fat gypsy wedding” here, by the way. These are weddings where the bride has probably had a personal trainer for the previous year (another hidden cost) and is so thin that she is a shadow of her former self as she flits up the aisle in that designer dress.

Ah yes, the dress. Almost forgot about the dress. That pièce de résistance will cost at least €2,000.

And talking about such attire. There are now strict protocols for the MOB also. No bargain hunting in chain stories for her new gúna, I have learned. Indeed, I was frog-marched to a special MOB shop in Cork for my dress recently.

There I mingled with an army of matriarchs as I preened like a peacock in front of long mirrors while an assistant with most interesting eyebrows “oohed and aahed” before divesting me of an inordinate amount of money.

I didn’t crack though until she referred me to the fascinators: there were pink ones and purple ones, feathered ones and flowered ones.

“I don’t plan to look as if I need to be plucked at my daughter’s wedding,” I said to the arched-eyebrows. “Actually, I plan to wear a clothes hanger in my hair,” I added, as I swept out of the shop.