tradition & innovation
“A wedding is an opportunity to change the world.”
As David Rose might say: mm…a bold claim.
I use this line in my pitch and marketing because, like any ritual, a wedding is an opportunity for people to create their ideal world and communicate what’s important to them. The only thing that’s required to make it a “wedding” is the public declaration of a couple’s commitment before requisite witnesses. As a ritual nerd, I also pay attention to the effects of a ritual–both the desired and surprise outcomes and impacts on the people who participate. For a wedding? The desired outcome is for a couple’s community to recognize them as a married couple. It’s not warm and fuzzy, it’s not romance, and it’s not magic–it’s neuroscience. A wedding ceremony invites (some might say manipulates) participants to pay close attention, to reflect on the people at the center and on the symbols, texts, actions, and ideas they invoke. It facilitates a rewiring of their brains to see, to relate to, and to think about the people at the center differently. This, I believe, is why so many of us are prone to cry at weddings–the more we pay attention, the more we engage the world that the couple has created, the deeper the emotional impact. As we watch people use all those symbols, words, and actions to demonstrate the life they’re committing to, we’re both experiencing a change for them and feeling a change in us.
This is also why weddings really stress people out. There’s a lot of energy from people who surround the to-be-weds because they anticipate that everyone involved is going to experience a change. Traditional practices are powerful because their familiarity can be comforting, reassuring for people who are anxious ahead of that change. Some folx commit to tradition because they know it worked for them–if it ain’t broke, why fix it? Over the last couple of centuries, the American wedding, as reflected in popular practices and the industry that serves it (what I lovingly call the Wedding Industrial Complex, of WIC), has taken a definite form, and that form has been reinforced by Hollywood, print media, and more recently by social media.
Here’s the problem: the contemporary “American wedding,” the ceremony and other ritual and symbolic practices associated with it, is anything but American and certainly not contemporary. It’s a mix of 19th century Protestant theology, European royal court customs, and vestiges of a radically misogynist society. When couples interview me to design their ceremony, I try to distinguish myself from other officiants by the critical lens I bring to wedding practices and point to examples baked into the “American wedding.” The middle aisle with the groom waiting by the officiant and the traditional vows (“to have and to hold…”) replicate 19th century Protestant churches. The assembly of attendants, elaborate and anachronistic dress, the first dance and bite of cake, and even an officiant’s permission to kiss are imitations of European royal court customs. A bride’s white dress still imitates Queen Victoria’s 1840 wedding. These are vestiges of attempts to imitate aristocratic European culture (hello, Bertha Russell of The Gilded Age), but these practices also perpetuate the “queen for a day” and “Cinderella bride” myths, which are rightly criticized as disempowering and infantilizing for women. The bride’s father walking her down the aisle is perhaps the most obvious remnant of the days when a wedding was an elaborate transaction that facilitated the sale of a woman by her first owner (her father) to her new owner (her husband). And yet, most American weddings and the ideals projected by the Wedding Industrial Complex adhere to these traditional forms.
Some folx reject any traditional practices around weddings—or marriage itself–on principle because of these and other reasons. I respect that, but I also understand the ways those traditions are baked into our imaginations. The most ardent feminist might still want her father to accompany her down the aisle because sharing that moment with him, an image projected onto her from the moment she walked as a baby, outweighs the practice’s transactional origins. The gayest of gay couples might still heteronormally walk down the aisle in black and white to be married by the bishop because occupying those roles constitute a bold demonstration of progress–a queeer couple might step into familiar roles and use familiar forms to demonstrate their equality with other married couples. Holding onto those practices, though, means holding onto their origins and legitimating the values that accompany them, and every time you go to a wedding that maintains those traditions, those ideals are reinforced in your brain and shape your understanding of what a wedding–and by extension what marriage–means.
I believe that objects and practices, especially but not only in a ritual context, carry with them the values of the world that inspired them. That’s great when it comes to maintaining a link across generations, but I’m less enthusiastic when I recognize the ways that these practices breathe new life into old prejudices, outdated ideas about gender and marriage, and systemic injustices and prejudices. While the WIC offers beautiful imitations of past practices, and the people who make up thw WIC are talented and dedicated professionals, the industry is complicit in perpetuating the values that go with them.
I look at a wedding as a unique opportunity to maintain the best of traditional practices–to mine them for what’s valuable and relevant at their core–and to develop new ones that authentically reflect the experiences, identities, and values of the people at the center. And here’s where the “change the world” part comes in: because people are paying very close attention at weddings, every choice has the potential to reinforce, adapt, or challenge everyone’s preconceptions of what makes a wedding, including ideas about gender and sexual identities, about class, consumption, and culture, and about how we move through the world with each other. The challenge that most to-be-weds face is that, if they truly want to step away from those traditions and create something new, it’s not clear where to begin.
For me, the starting point is identifying what is most important to the people getting married, the values that shape and will sustain their relationship. Asking “What are your values?” is too broad of a question to start, so I ask to-be-weds, “How would you describe the home you want to build together?” Responses vary from material and aesthetic descriptions to describing ideal interactions and experiences, but they always elicit what’s important to them. Once I have a better understanding of that, I can offer context about practices they want to include and the ways they might resonate or clash with the couple’s values.
I know that most couples will probably stick with the traditional flow and aesthetic, and it’s not my job to tell them what they want. Instead, I offer them ways to reframe those practices so they more closely align with their values, and I’m very conscientious about the language in my remarks and in typical components like the declaration of intent, exchange of rings, community vows, and pronouncement. Even though it is embedded in (or buried by) traditional decor and actions, the language I use still makes an impact because it strays from the expected script. Every choice, every word, every action, every symbol directly impacts the people present, and I delight in being able to move the needle ever so slightly in the ways people think about weddings.
Once in a while, though, I get to work with couples who are chomping at the bit to do something truly new and unique, something that authentically reflects them and their relationship. I don’t have to unpack the dark side of wedding practices for them–typically those couples arrive already critically aware of the challenges that come with traditional practices, and they find someone like me because I’ve got the tools to turn their values into an important and potentially transformative moment. This year, I’ve worked with several couples who started the process of designing their ceremonies ready to innovate, and, as wedding season 2025 comes to a close, I want to share some of the things I’ve learned from five particular ceremonies.
R&J
R & J are both architects, already highly attuned to form, movement, symbolism, and aesthetics, and they were actually interested in hearing about my design process. That was particularly helpful for me–on one level, it gave me space to geek out about the nuances and openings in ritual design that make other people’s eyes glaze over, and on another it forced me to be more intentional in my own approach to our collaboration. While the flow of their wedding day looked pretty traditional, R & J actively deconstructed particular practices and either reframed or adapted them if they were aesthetcially or sentimentally appealing but ethically troubling. R & J’s wedding included two important innovations–establishing a new tradition, and three distinct ceremonies.
A new tradition
From the very start of our collaboration, R & J were excited about co-creating an object that would be both a centerpiece for the wedding and the root of a new tradition at home. At first, they weren’t sure what the object would be, but after some time they landed on a candlestick. It wasn’t just important that they make something–for R & J, co-creating it was the important part. It reflected a deeper commitment in their relationship to actively co-create their lives together, including their home, their careers, and their continued intellectual and personal growth. They presented their halves to each other (and glued them together) in the private ceremony, lit a candle to seal their vows in the public ceremony, and relit the candle for their legal ceremony.
They weren’t sure what would evolve, how they would continue to use it at home, but I can imagine them lighting a candle in that special co-created object on anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, funerals…it’s a flexible enough symbol, both physically and formally, to adapt to a wide variety of practices, but it’s distinct enough to maintain a direct and tangible connection to the wedding ceremony. Every time they glance at the co-created candleholder, every time they light it, they’ll be reminded of their vows and the experience they created, or rather co-created, to invite their people to witness a change in their lives. In this way, the ritual lives on and serves as a tool not just for transformation but also for sustenance.
Three Ceremonies
Most event planners can give you the basic flow for the standard American wedding, including a highly structured and tightly scheduled day that makes sufficient time for everything from setting up event spaces and dressing the wedding party to the last dance and clearing out by curfew. Among the current-standard slots on the itinerary is the “first look.” Once upon a time, photographers were prized for their ability to catch magical, unscripted moments. For to-be-weds who clung to superstition (“It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride!”), their first glimpse of each other in full wedding drag came when the bride appeared at the top of the aisle. The most gifted photographers would snap the groom’s spontaneous reaction to his bride at her most beautiful and most elegant (and probably donning the most makeup she’ll ever wear). But then other demands on the itinerary trumped superstition, leading to the now-standard pre-ceremony photo shoot. Of course, that means that the magical moment of a groom’s first glimpse of his bride evaporated. Enter the “first look.” Planners and photographers now conspire to keep a couple separate while they dress, and then they lead the couple to each other, typically zhuzhing the bride before spinning the groom around and diving out of the shot. Less of a magical moment, to me it often feels stiff and awkward. Photographers do their best to primee and coach the grooms to elicit the right emotions. Aren’t you excited to see her? Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? Or, my least favorite, Come on, show her how beautiful you think she is.
Because of that artifice, R & J weren’t interested in a “first look,” but they also wanted the license signing to be more than a clerical afterthought, so I proposed “three ceremonies.” First, a private ceremony: we used the opening in the itinerary for R & J to meet in a walled garden to offer two gifts to each other–they read “private vows” to each other and presented their halves of the co-created candleholder. Photographers were strictly instructed not to intrude, to stay out of the garden and to maintain a distance with any over-the-wall shots. Second, a public ceremony: as R& J met in the garden, the public ceremony began (without the to-be-weds) with an “informal procession” of grandparents and siblings. R & J arrived after a reading and my remarks. On a practical level, their delayed entrance highlighted the private ceremony where the to-be-weds were starting, and symbolically pointed to the fact that we gathered to celebrate a relationship that, after many years together, wasn’t just beginning. Finally, a legal ceremony: the candleholder traveled with R & J, their witnesses, and me to a private location, and after re-lighting the candle, we both solemnly and joyfully signed the required documents.
By framing these practices as distinct ceremonies within their wedding festivities, R & J were able to elevate things often dismissed or overlooked in many weddings. They added layers of meaning to the logistics of the day, and they pushed back against a trend of reducing a transformative moment into a cover shoot.
T & C
When I met T & C, they made their priorities for finding an officiant clear: they wanted someone they could trust who could help with their vows. The vibe factor was everything for them, and by the end of our introductory meeting, we were vibing for sure. It was a second wedding for each of them, and they looked to this wedding as an opportunity to highlight their continuing growth as individuals and as a couple. Instead of just going through the motions, they paid great attention to every detail–every word, every action, every selection meant something to them. However, what was innovative about their wedding was that it wasn’t innovative at all.
Queer people & straight roles
Through their wedding, T & C wanted to celebrate the life they are building together. They were particularly aware of various challenges, including past traumas and the impact of relationships with family, friends, and previous partners. Designing the ceremony became a way to practice and crystallize ways they would help each other continue to grow.
Wedding traditions offer particular roles to step into–picking up a familiar script and costumes makes the transition into something new a little easier, whether it’s a new state of mind, a new identity for friends and family to recognize, or new commitments (you know, the vows) that shape their home and their lives. It’s no surprise that many traditional wedding practices are severely heteronormative, and it’s often baffled me why queer folx engage very straight customs. If we think we’re out and proud, isn’t the use of hetero practices just an outgrowth of internalized heterosexism (the complex of irrational fears and behaviors previously known as “homophobia”)?
In some ways, T & C’s wedding was more traditional than straight weddings. For starters, C wore a white gown, T a dark suit–bride & groom much? Working with them, though, I started to see it a little differently. It’s not that they were running back to hetero ways. These were comfortable and familiar roles for them and their families, and the fact that they could inhabit these traditions was itself a radical move and an indicator of how far queer folx have come. Seeing two brides or two grooms was once unthinkable, except as the butt of a joke. (Need evidence? Consider The Golden Girls–just listen to the studio audience’s reaction when Blanche’s baby brother, Clayton, tells her that he’s getting married to a man. It’s uproarious, a combination of shock and hilarity.) While some folx approach weddings as opportunities to design something distinctly queer, others need to inhabit those traditional roles and don those clothes as a reminder to themselves and to everyone around them–especially family who might harbor some anti-queer sentiments–of both their equality and their inherent dignity.
L & R
It doesn’t take more than a lap or two through Pinterest or a bridal magazine to see that, instead of creating something actually unique or new, most weddings defer to trends and tradition. Film & TV use weddings for rapid and emotionally packed exposition about their characters, so if a wedding echoes a recent film, it’s really more a reflection of that fiction than of the people getting married in real life. As beautiful, ethereal, and moving as the wedding scene in Crazy Rich Asians was, replicating it in any way will not make you crazy rich. Tradition, on the other hand, is familiar and comfortable, but it perpetuates particular ideals that do not resonate with most Americans getting married. Unfortunately, the warehouses of the Wedding Industrial Complex are stocked and ready to provide everything you need to ride a trend or to fulfill tradition. The professionals of the WIC do an excellent job across the board–these folx make their livelihood on creating beautiful moments for clients–but, like in any other industry, innovation doesn’t guarantee income. Unless clients take the initiative to resist the grip of trends and tradition (and are able to absorb the cost), there’s little incentive for industry professionals to shake things up.
If a couple really wants a ceremony that is unique and authentic, they need to walk past tradition and trends and start asking better questions. Why walk down the aisle? Why invite a big wedding party? Why let an officiant do all the talking? Or, for that matter, why let an officiant do any of the talking? Then, they can return to traditional practices and discern which ones make the cut. It’s exciting to work with couples like L & R, because they respected what was at the core of traditional practices and intentional about their ceremony. This manifested in two prominent ways–the tone they set with music, and the ways they amplified their own voices.
Setting and developing the tone
A professional musician, R had no trouble identifying the music to include in the ceremony, and it began with “This Must Be the Place” by the Talking Heads. First of all, very cool. Excellent choice in terms of the song’s mood and lyrics, but as an entrance song, it has a very, very long instrumental intro. We used that to our advantage. Set in a large rose garden, L & R entered from different ends of the park, preceded by their parents, and entered the ceremony space just as David Byrne sang “Home is where I want to be…” Before the pronouncement at the end, we included a set of community vows, a chance to invite family and friends to pledge their ongoing support (and to build in a standing ovation at the end without the awkward wave of should we stand? yes? no? now?). As I began the first of three questions, the DJ hit play on “Emotions.” The gathered shouted “We will!” three times as Mariah’s hum rose, and I pronounced them married and invited them to seal their vows with a kiss. Their lips met just as Mariah exploded into “YOU got me feeling emotions, deeper than I’ve ever dreamed of…” The moment didn’t imitate any particular film, but little choices like magical music timing made it feel cinematic.
It wasn’t magic, of course. It was science. A couple weeks before the ceremony, I visited the rose garden and, to the confusion of other rose admirers, timed the walk to the ceremony center from various points at different speeds. I delivered my data on minimum and maximum walking time and how that intersected the music, and we integrated this little choreo into the ceremony. After returning from my data collecting expedition, my husband remarked, “I think you do more than most officiants do for their clients.” It wasn’t a compliment, more of a note of concern, but I reassured him that it’s all part of the process.
Voices
The practice of inviting a large wedding party to participate in a ceremony and other festivities is tempting, in part because it gives the illusion of inclusion. L & R gathered a large group of friends, but they kept roles in the ceremony tight. No wedding party, per se–we stood alone at the ceremony center and beyond their parents in the procession, siblings as signing witnesses, and a friend managing the music, all other family and friends were part of the general assembly. Instead of spotlighting particular relationships, limiting formal roles actually makes for a more inclusive event–all guests were treated as equals, with none getting more or less access to the couple or the camera.
L is an experienced writer, and they share a deep appreciation for the power of words. While finding the right texts to include in a ceremony can be daunting for some, it was a breeze for L & R. Because they loved and knew their selections well (a Billy Collins poem and a passage by Teilhard de Chardin), L & R opted to read the texts themselves. I usually encourage couples to think about inviting a variety of people to fulfill ritual tasks in the ceremony, especially if they’ve got attendants standing with us–instead of just standing and looking pretty, they could read a text, help set or complete the ceremony center, or facilitate some moment in the ritual. My clients rarely invite people to do a reading, either because they can’t imagine any of their friends assenting to public speaking or because they want to keep things streamlined. That means that I usually deliver any readings that they choose, but L & R’s choice to take the mic delighted me. People often go to weddings and zone out when anyone but the to-be-weds are speaking, and by delivering the readings themselves, L & R drew everyone in a little closer, making them even more attentive to their selections and to the vows and exchange of rings that would follow. The move surprised some of their guests, and even their event planner noted that it was an unusual and lovely change from other weddings she’s worked.
D & P
Individually and as a couple, D & P are highly conscientious in everything–in their words and actions, in how they make meaning of their experiences, about their professions and their passions. They entered the ritual design process with enthusiasm about crafting, as D said in our introductory meeting, “a ceremony that is meaningful and memorable,” and I almost cried from happiness when she noted that she was inspired by Priya Parker’s The Art of Gathering, my go-to resource for thinking about how we come together. The key word along the way was “intentional.” They wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t meaningful for them, and the result was an engaging and moving blend of innovations and adapted traditions.
Symbolism is everything
For D & P, symbolism was everything, and everything grew out of their desire to reflect on their journeys–as individuals and together. This manifested in two major symbolic forms: a ceremony “in the round” and intentional processions. Instead of the traditional audience-style setup that dominates most weddings (itself a recreation of a Christian church), D & P chose a wedding in the round. A table at the center hosted an empty hourglass and other items that would be used in the ceremony (their marriage license, rings, a print and chop seals), and seating was divided by three aisles. For most of the ceremony, D, P & I stood with our backs to the aisles (so we didn’t inhibit guests’ views), and in addition to giving D & P a quite literal experience of being surrounded by family and friends, it gave all their guests a chance to see each other. Before the to-be-weds even entered the space, they could look around and consider who else joined D & P on the journey to this moment.
The procession was designed to very intentionally represent that journey. D & P wanted to honor their parents, their siblings, and their closest friends in a meaningful way, and we framed them as companions on their journeys. For their entrance, the to-be-weds entered the space simultaneously and walked around different sides of the circle before entering the center by different aisles. D & P entered the space accompanied by their parents; then they met their siblings, who walked with them around the circle, their parents following a few steps behind; then they met their best friends who walked with them up the aisles, their siblings and parents a few steps behind; and then they entered the circle alone. It wasn’t just a symbolic stroll–as they reached the end of each portion of the journey to the center, each of their companions shared a private moment with their to-be-wed. I’m not sure what they said–we invited them to offer a brief blessing, words of encouragement or praise, or hopes or advice for the future.
We recognized that this would make for a longer-than-usual procession–it took about 10 minutes–and the to-be-weds chose two arrangements of the same song to accompany the entrance. An expansive orchestral arrangement was followed by a solo piano version–as D & P neared the center, the music became more intimate and drew guests in. Instead of being just a beautiful piece of choreography, it also served as a moving meditation for guests–we didn’t ask them to maintain solemn silence, and while there was the occasional whisper among friends, most folx were intently focused on D & P making their way closer and closer. I really didn’t anticipate how effective this would be–right from the start, I could feel this group immediately drawn in. Though there were a lot of moving parts for the ceremony that followed, everything flowed beautifully, and even the most innovative practices felt familiar. I would argue that this was the result of beginning with that contemplative moment–it primed everyone for what was to come.
D & P placed an hourglass at the center of the ceremony. Empty at the start, it served as an abstract symbol of time on their journey, and it was full by the end–their parents added sand first, as they reached the center, then by their witnesses after they signed the license, and then by all of their guests as they exited the ceremony. D & P brought the hourglass home to be prominently displayed and frequently used as a material connection to the ceremony, as a touchstone reminder of their vows, and as a visible reminder of the people who joined them on the journey.
Voices
Being in the round also made it easier to include a variety of readers without putting anyone in the “hot seat” or disrupting the flow of the ritual. The first reading was delivered one line at a time, by the siblings and friends who were part of the procession. They stood around the circle, at the points where they would greet the to-be-weds who entered after this text. The second reading was delivered, one stanza at a time, by the to-be-weds’ parents from their seats in the first row. The third reading was delivered by three friends who sat by the exit aisle who just stood up and delivered their text from the aisle. In all, the ceremony included three readings delivered by fourteen people from multiple vantage points around the ceremony space, and yet, it didn’t feel complicated or unnecessarily complex. Instead, tapping into the language of organizational psychology, I would describe its effect as “flattening.” Instead of focusing attention on one spot and reinforcing a single source of authority, the diversity of placements and readers created a more dynamic and a more equitably shared space.
Revisiting the “officiant”
The central table and ceremony in the round also had a profound (and, I admit, surprising) impact on my role as officiant. I’m often uncomfortable as the mediator of intimate words and actions–an officiant’s typical tasks of intoning the language of vows and rings and of pronouncing a couple married are rooted in the role priests and ministers play in traditional Christian weddings. Placing the officiant between the to-be-weds from guests’ points of view communicates the Church’s or State’s assumed role of governing the most intimate details of their lives.
Perhaps I’m being too abstract. Consider the kiss. You’ve seen it, right? Either a distinguished bishop proclaims “You may kiss the bride” or Moira Rose declares “You may kiss each other,” and a couple kisses to the cheers and tears of their loved ones. The big moment, right? If you haven’t cried at the wedding, yet, this is your cue from the officiant to open the floodgates. But here’s the thing: the kiss is a vestige of perhaps the most un-modern practice retained in American weddings, the publicly witnessed consummation of pre-modern royal and aristocratic European weddings. Members of the court would gather around a bed to witness the couple have sex for the first time, both to confirm that the marriage is, indeed, sealed and to confirm that the bride is a virgin. This trickled down to common folx, too. Wedding parties would often gather in the bridal chamber and shower a couple with flowers or sweets, or even play games like tossing a balled-up stocking across the bed and over the heads of the newlyweds. In some contexts, brides were publicly undressed in preparation for the consummation–ever see a garter taken off of a bride at the reception? Yeah, that’s another vestige of public consummation. Thankfully, we don’t imitate all of those practices anymore, but they survive in both romantic and prankish decorations of bridal suites and in an officiant’s proclamation, “You may kiss.”
It’s not that I hate romance. I hate the suggestion that officiants (or the civil or religious institutions they represent) have authority over a couple’s sex life. I am acutely aware that I have no say when it comes to a marrying couple’s sexual relationship, and accordingly I won’t invoke the language of permission and command. Instead, I treat the kiss like exchanging rings, lighting a candle together, handfasting, or any other symbolic actions that seal a couple’s vows and cement their union in the minds of witnesses. But when I stand at the center of a ceremony, visually interrupting a couple’s unity, it’s hard for me to shake the negative echoes that come with the authority of an officiant. When it came to D & P’s ceremony, though, because I stood on the other side of the central table, we took away any visual suggestion of authority. My role was appropriately reduced to ritual facilitator and official witness. It wasn’t just visual, though–instead of whispering lines for them to repeat, we placed cards on the table with the language of their vows and rings exchange so neither my body nor my voice interrupted D & P’s connection. I was completely removed from the moment. And I loved it.
G & S
You know what I didn’t have on my 2025 bingo card? Emergency queer weddings. Recently, my friends G & S, a gay couple who have been together for thirty years, were advised by their attorney to legally marry. I’ve heard about many officiants who are adapting their services for couples who fear an imminent repeal of marriage equality in the US, and I’ve done a handful of these weddings in the last year. Getting married with the hopes that their marriages will be “grandfathered in” isn’t a ceremonial concern–it’s an incredibly urgent and practical one. For queer folx, marriage is both a sign of social progress and an assurance of protections for their rights and assets, protections that had been denied us until, state by state and then with Obergefell v. Hodges, we were guaranteed equal protections and access to benefits that straight people enjoyed. One of the benefits of equal marriage isn’t just the right to marry but also the right not to marry. Many queer couples who recognized fundamental differences between their relationships and the mainstream definitions of marriage refrained from marrying and could rely on other legal arrangements to protect couples’ assets and rights.
The worst-case scenario where these protections come into play is a medical crisis. Unless otherwise directed and documented, when people can’t make decisions for themselves, their “next of kin” assume responsibility. I can’t tell you how scary this is for queer folx. If equal marriage is repealed and states are not federally required to recognize the rights of queer people to serve as their partners’ proxies, we would return to a painful chapter in our history. Amid the AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s, without these protections, the “next of kin” assumed rights to decision making for people dying of AIDS. I’ve heard too many stories from gay men about being kicked out of their homes and denied access to, nevermind decision-making authority for, their dying partners. Too many “next of kin” who hated their brothers or uncles or sons because of their sexual identities left their bodies behind in morgues and walked away with their assets. We do not want to return to that, and right now, marriage provides the strongest protections. That said, queer folx (myself included) are scrambling to figure out how to protect ourselves and our families, especially if Obergefell is overturned.
When it comes to ritual design, the particular challenge for G & S was their historical rejection of marriage on ethical grounds, seeing the institution and traditions around it as inherently misogynistic. For thirty years, legal arrangements guaranteed their joint ownership of assets and “next of kin” status, but this new threat pushed them to bend their principles. I wanted to respect their convictions, and instead of invoking too much tradition, we stripped the ceremony to its most basic. We also didn’t pretend that it was launching something new–instead, it was one more moment, one of thousands they’d created over the years, that affirmed and deepened their connection to each other. Their ceremony communicated that legal marriage is just one more marker of their life and legacy together.
