You guys? I kinda hate money right now. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to talk about it.

… Thus spake the girl who just dropped a wad of cash on brand-new undies. I just couldn’t continue girding my loins in rags any longer, yafillme?

AND YET. The mind. It dwells on the money. And verily, the money remains on the mind.

Let me give you a rundown of my typical mental trip.

First, I’ll stop by one of those slick inspiration blogs that feature impeccably-styled weddings. You know the drill. There is a hip swanky hotel; there are a million unique details. There is a retro photo booth littered with all kinds of zany props. The hottest club DJ-of-the-minute is on the ones and twos, sending guests into a frenzied, unholy trance. The bride is wearing a gorgeous dress custom-made by a fashion designer.* And for about 25 seconds, I am jealous. Jealous. Why can’t my wedding be like that? Why is my budget so tiny and impossible?

Then, I laugh it all off, because they are fools. Fools. Spending all that money? On just one single day? Yeah, it looked neat, but they should have focused on the things that really matter, which sure as hell aren’t the centerpieces fashioned from antique cameras. The beau and I don’t care about how the wedding looks. Our minds are in the right place. Our hearts are in the right place. We’re sensible people who are focused on the marriage, and not pretty crap.

We are so much better than that.

I win. Ha.

Next, I’ll cruise on over to the “budget” wedding blogs. And there will be a post that talks about a quiet, beautiful, soulful, sincere wedding that was put on for a total of $3,000. And for about 37 seconds I hate. Haaaaaaaaate. Oh sure, I’ll think. Sure. Of course. They probably have, like, 20 graphic design and musician friends. They borrowed their uncle’s cute little Victorian home with a large backyard. Their 3rd-grade teacher volunteered to make a buttload of tiramisu. Their cousin redesigned their grandmother’s wedding dress to suit the bride. Of course they did it all for so little.

Then, I click away feeling like I’ve just been punched in the gut. Oh, God. Their budget was so small. Oh, shit. I am clearly the world’s most irresponsible person for not having a budget that small. Maybe if I just searched harder for resources? Leaned harder on my friends? Maybe we really can make this a community effort, despite the fact that 90% of our community lives out of town? I am failing, failing. I am a wasteful bride who is flunking Do-It-Together 101. I want to throw my money away on frivolous things like a DJ and a day-of coordinator, when it’s the sentiment that matters!

What is wrong with us?

I lose. Hard.

And this, my friends, is where the needle skids off the record. Skreeeeeeeep.

Money, to each and every one of us, is not just straight numbers. Money is class.** Money is opportunity. Money is worth. And so we involuntarily assign an ethical value to our budgets. Whether we like it or not, we assign an emotional value to what we’re spending for our weddings.***

And that’s where budgets, and talking about them among ourselves, can be insidious. People have vastly different ideas of what constitutes “reasonable.” Reasonable is a highly personal decision informed by individual experience and systems of belief. I might think my budget is sensible while others would insist it’s ludicrous. You’re spending what on what? OK, crazy lady.

Our corner of the wedding world attracts like-minded people. We tend to believe less is more. We (mostly) value substance over style. We’re often working within limited budgets. Ours is a world quite inverted from the norm (hello, tradition and ostentation!), and somehow, somewhere along the line, we all seem to have agreed that the smaller the budget, the better the wedding. There’s an assumption floating around that big, pretty, spendy weddings are devoid of meaning. That they are emotionally fake, that they are a fabrication. I admit that I’ve been guilty of insinuating this. But I submit that this is a sort of knee-jerk reaction to our lack of disposable incomes. We can’t have all the prettiness, so we shall dub it excessive.

Ellie of Wedding for Two put it best in a recent post: “I don’t think big weddings are better than small weddings, but I think that big weddings get derided in the BIC because people equate big wedding with magazine-worthy wedding, or brides who become so obsessed with the wedding that they forget about the marriage.”

You know what? If the beau and I won the lottery tomorrow, I can’t say that I wouldn’t spend more money on our wedding than absolutely necessary. I highly suspect that my hypothetical, suddenly-rich self would hire the high-end DJ. I would invite more of my friends. I would fashion some centerpieces out of antique cameras. But I also believe that, despite the magazine-ready resemblance, our wedding would still be a significant, emotional experience between us and the little community that will have gathered to witness the start of our marriage. Money can’t ever take that away from us. Prettiness can never trump that.

Spending less money on a wedding does not automatically generate more meaning (and vice-versa). The people who are involved do.

My budget is my budget. This is what we can afford.****

I need to keep my head down and focus on that.*****

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* She also does not have flabby arms, which just kills me.

** Last year, A. of Accordions and Lace wrote an exceptional post about class and weddings. Please go read it if you haven’t yet.

*** Well, what we spend for everything, really.

**** Um, what we currently cannot afford, but we’re working on that.

***** A Cupcake Wedding posted last Friday on ignoring others’ opinions of your budget. You should go read that too, if you haven’t.