I’m not ready to end it with you just yet, but I do have some complaints. I love how you make it easy to re-find recipes, or how you store my pictures of children dressed as animals to cheer me on rough days.
But I hate you for what you are doing to my wedding.
First of all, I hate how you are making all of us – a whole generation of brides– have the same wedding. Our pictures are interchangeable, full of blush-toned peonies stuck in mason jars balanced atop old stuff and strung with bunting and burlap. We got sucked in to your promises of originality and instead we all are ending up cookie-cutter DIY rustic-chic with a touch of modern class affairs. And then, to feel like we are breaking the mold, we have to do RIDICULOUS things. What was so wrong with getting married in a pretty dress and eating awesome food before breaking it down to the electric slide?
But most of all, I hate you for what you are taking from me every time you taunt me with your pictures of those perfect weddings: my contentment. I hate you when you describe how one bride “hand-stamped their guests names on each vintage/antique fork attached to the cupcake favor!” Do you know Pinterest, that many of us don’t have time to hand stamp antique forks????? And before, I didn’t mind, but now I am paralyzed with anxiety over a unique do-it-yourself gift from my heart, but even if I find a great idea, it won’t be unique, since you already prostituted it around the internet.
And if it isn’t DIY impossibility (hey Pinterest – WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE WHO CAN DO THESE THINGS THEMSELVES???? Because the average American female CAN NOT turn a t-shirt into a ruffled sundress in 3 easy steps), then I hate you for the unrealistic budget expectations you are setting. I can’t afford to “send guests home with a personalized night cap: A mini bottle of bourbon wrapped in a custom label,” nor can I arrange to fill the sky with lanterns as I leave or purchase those insanely perfect lace dresses. And Pinterest – don’t even get me started on flowers. You are eternal spring, promising fat peonies year round or ranunculus that come in sizes not found in nature. And I feed on your promises before crashing down to earth.
And it’s hard Pinterest, but I want it back, my contentment with my wedding. I want to remember that I get to marry the man that I love, surrounded by the people we cherish. And it won’t be in a refurbished barn strung with lanterns, or a vineyard whose mosquitoes and scorching heat have been obscured by a talented photographer. And I won’t have a s’mores bar, and a mimosa bar, and place cards painted on old window panes hung by flower garlands.
But if I can tune out all the things that you are showing me I have to have to be happy, maybe I can focus on what I need to be married, and that list is surprisingly short.
So Pinterest, I’m keeping you around, but I’m going to try to remember that you spin webs of impossible weddings, and if I chase after them, I will be forever unhappy. And I’m not going to let you win.
Hannah (and the multitude of other brides who are exhausted from chasing your promises of ethereal wedding perfection)
ps- I do still really like mason jars.