UNcurated: the evolution of a wedding planner

Stepping through the glass front doors of the college campus adjacent Methodist church felt strange. It had been years since I had been under the cavernous ceiling of the Mid-Century Modern sanctuary. The giant vintage pipe organ loomed behind the altar, where I was baptized at about 18-months-old and announced to the 1000 people in the congregation, via Reverend Klinger’s lapel mic, that he “ruined my pretty new dress” with his holy water. Before my parents got divorced, we were there most Sundays but usually used the back entrance near the parking lot, that lead to hallways of classrooms for Sunday school, where my mom would periodically take on elementary biblical lessons, blending her high school Physics teacher vibe with her Catholic school upbringing. Nine years later, this hot summer Saturday, the church lobby was bathed in sunlight from the tall windows that stretched above, and I was a bit too casually dressed, with arms full of flowers. I pinned calla lily boutonnieres onto tuxedo lapels, hung petite white floral pieces on pews with white ribbon and helped set the larger focal pieces at the altar, brimming with green foliage, more calla lilies, roses and other white flowers, whose names I was still learning, like lisianthus and stock. Though now, you will never catch me with a calla lily, they used to be one of my favorites, because my first and forever floral true love is lily of the valley, my mom’s favorite that grew along the brick red painted picket fence in the backyard, behind our red brick house, so I just assumed all lilies deserved adoration. Also, because it was 2001. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, I was studying interior design and assisting a florist when I wasn’t nannying for her 3-month-old triplets. This was my very first job onsite at a wedding and that was it, I was hooked.  

One of my earliest memories, perhaps it’s even my very first memory, was a wedding. I must have been 3, with blonde shoulder-length curls, wearing my favorite white apron dress with eyelet ruffled shoulder straps and a single pink and green flower embroidered on the front. My parents took me to a bland parks department building, facing a lake that was filled with single file ducks milling about. As we entered the building, my attention immediately snapped from the ducks to all of the red throughout the room, banners and paper garlands trimmed with gold, honoring the couple’s Chinese cultural traditions. The bride and groom were students at the Big Ten university, where my dad taught Educational Technology, the technology of the early 80’s; large thin floppy disks that made a rubber band sound when you wiggled them back and forth like a polaroid, clunky black and gray computers with keyboards attached to the monitor and dot matrix printers that could print your likeness. We sat in cold metal folding chairs and ate cake with sugary white frosting, and I was enthralled with the white satin of the bride’s puffed sleeve dress and her matching long gloves that reached almost the full length of her arms. As we gathered together to take a photo with the couple, I gravitated toward the bride and extended my hand in the hopes that I could feel the material of her dress. My tiny fingers gingerly brushed her skirt and I felt an unfamiliar smooth, almost slick, softness that crinkled and crunched underneath. She looked down at me and smiled with friendly eyes and endless sparkles from her jewelry, then gently placed her gloved hands on my shoulders. For years, I thought that red was a defining element in all weddings and I never forgot the feel of that wedding dress.

A few years later, my older cousin liked to dress me up like a doll in her old party dresses and then take photos of her handiwork. One day, she pulled out her first communion dress. Having been raised in a Methodist church, I didn’t understand why she got to dress up like a tiny bride for church, but I immediately jumped at the opportunity to put on the white organza and lace, complete with makeup and a veil pinned over the updo that tamed my frizzy blonde waves. That photo still sits near my desk.  

I’ve loved weddings for as long as I can remember, but I didn’t set out to become a wedding planner, it just kind of happened. I waitressed throughout most of college, having sunny conversations with the customers, bantering with the rest of the staff in the back of the house, learning how to carry an arm full of hot bistro plates topped with pasta and sauces that could easily slide off the edge and occasionally learning to manage unhappy diners who thought their food should have come out more quickly or didn’t like the location of their table. The worst was a graduating college senior who berated me in front of the restaurant for “ruining” her graduation experience because the host wasn’t able to seat them for their reservation right away and I was covering more tables than usual because we were short staffed. I could sense the tension as I greeted the 10-top with a smile and offered apologies for the restaurant being slammed. I employed my fastest walk to get to the back of the house and filled their drinks from soda fountain and then balanced my tray and headed to the bar on the opposite side of the restaurant to wait for the bartender to fill the rest of the order. I intentionally did not stop at any of my other tables on the way back, because I knew the 10-top was on edge, but I wasn’t fast enough. The young woman promptly stood up and let me have it, unleashing every frustration she must have experienced in the last month, the pressure of finals and the emotion of whatever this transition held for her, it all landed on me. In my white dress shirt and purple tie, underneath a sauce-splattered black apron, my face flamed and I choked back tears as they stormed out. I finally cried in the back of the house, by the soda-fountain when I realized they’d left me with the check for their cocktails and that was to be deducted from my tips. 8 months later, I transferred to a new school and moved to Chicago, and the world of events opened up before me. I produced events for college classes, interned for museums, concerts and street festivals and envisioned a career like Samantha Jones, with stanchions for exclusive guest lists, problem solving and creative design concepts. 

After my first job out of college, producing corporate events and assisting a magazine publisher, I quickly stumbled back into the world of weddings with my second job out of college. I managed a studio that featured a collective of wedding vendors from across Chicagoland, at a time when loyalty rewards marketing had to be described as “frequent flyer miles for brides and grooms.”  I realized how vast and deeply layered the wedding industry in Chicago and throughout the world really was, so much further beyond my initial scope of understanding that stopped at my hometown. I worked in the studio during the week and on evenings and weekends, I produced various marketing events to connect with people planning weddings. I worked countless tradeshows, navigating venues and load-in logistics, setting up our booth, standing for hours on aching feet and launching into my sunshiniest sales pitch for all the brides and mothers who came through. My voice was perpetually raspy because I talked so much, constantly connecting and engaging with strangers, resulting in split-second friendships. I worked as an apprentice to a wedding planner, with whatever spare time I had left and eventually started a wedding planning business with a former colleague when I was just 25.

Over the years, the wedding industry stretched and shifted. As event professionals, our creativity evolved, and our resources exponentially multiplied. Designs used to often be limited to one or two specific color shades like chocolate brown or celadon green, and then time thankfully transitioned us to rich palettes that offered a range of shades and tones, allowing wedding design to explore the reaches of art. Floral pieces went from submerged cymbidum orchids in cylinders of water, to rustic to gardeny to sculptural and even suspended above tables. Containers shifted from leaf wrapped vases to mason jars (a moment that lived far too long), and onto classic containers with timeless finishes or geometric and unexpected vessels. Invitations became innovative, ditched the tissue and infused our clients’ personalities. Photography shifted from stiff and formal to photojournalistic, fine art and editorial. Entertainment leveled up from the same DJs who did proms and played the Chicken Dance while wearing a brightly colored vest, to sophisticated DJs and bands who read the crowd and seamlessly transitioned between songs, building the dance floor energy and creating moments that elicit gasps and shouts. Event catering evolved to a culinary experience to rival the most exclusive James Beard Award winning restaurants. Collectively, we made service and guest experience a top priority. We used words like cohesive, comprehensive and customized. We created policies, built systems and pushed back against outdated norms that no longer worked in an ever-changing market. Unlike industries like law or accounting, the wedding industry, as we know it, can be counted in decades rather than centuries. Without a rulebook or specific curriculum, we’ve guided our clients through a million tiny decisions that impact each other, like emotional dominos wrapped up in years of dreams, expectations and sacrifices to build savings. We advocated for equality and celebrated when same-sex marriage finally became the law of the land. I coordinated weddings for pairs of grooms who were not yet able to get married in Illinois, so they traveled to another state for the legal ceremony, celebrating in Chicago later by exchanging vows again, this time in front of family and friends. We have watched time evolve to bring a society that is more equitable for all couples who are in love.

I still get chills when I fluff a bride’s train and whisper to her that it’s time to get married and then watch her clutch her father’s arm. In that moment, I feel a little bit like a voyeur in this quiet memory that they are forming, but also somehow an extension of their family, welcome on the perimeter of this sacred space. I take a pleasure in straightening out a place setting that’s not even with the one next to it or an askew fork. I get butterflies in the pit of my stomach, like the apex of a roller coaster, when I bring my clients into their reception for the first time, to see months of planning brought to life. No matter how many times I hear that trumpet harmony build up before the lyrics ring out, “Do you remember, the 21^st night of September,” I still shimmy my shoulders, while holding my binder full of event logistic documents, locking eyes with the banquet captain, photographer or band leader because we all know that no matter how many times we hear that song, the energy from a packed dance floor is contagious. 

Whether we are planners, entertainers, documenters, chefs, stationers, designers, venue reps or rental specialists, we all get each other. There is a common thread that connects us. We’re in the business of innovation, creativity, joy, gathering and celebration. The business of love and family. We’ve built bonds with each other through this shared experience and friendships where we can be vulnerable and honest, because know our carefully crafted images and brands disguise the struggle, sacrifice and humanity at our core. It takes a certain type of person to choose this work, or perhaps, this work chose us. 

We know how to handle aggressive wedding guests who don’t like the way their dinner is prepared or an anxious mother of the bride who is taking her stress out on us, because we’ve taken the heat of DEFCON-5 angry college graduate in the middle of a crowded Italian restaurant. We know how to connect with strangers because of the countless conversations that left our voices raspy or gone altogether. A myriad of lived experiences taught us how to navigate tricky situations, emotionally charged responses from family and guests with unreasonable expectations. (Why can’t they just sit down at table 4, even though they are seated at table 6, because they like the people at table 4 better, even though table 4 is a 60” round with 10 seats filled by other guests and we physically cannot fit another inch of space into that table? Can’t we just make more room?)

We aren’t very good at boundaries, because this work invades every fiber of our beings. This is deeply personal to our clients, so it demands a deeply personal connection from us and that’s what makes us good at our jobs. We are in the business of connection. There is no such thing as regular business hours; during the day, we email, conference call, place orders, confirm details, visit venues and pour over paperwork and in the evenings, we answer more emails, meet with our clients because they can’t sneak away from work during the day, we connect with vendors and colleagues, push our creativity and revel in new experiences we can bring to our clients. On weekends, it’s show time. We only get one shot to bring our client’s dream to life, there’s not next year’s holiday party to change it up or learn from a mistake, the wedding is a once in a lifetime moment for this particular combination of loved ones and acquaintances to be in the same room at the same time. So, don’t fuck up. 

When we were younger, we worked every weekend, so we would miss countless social gatherings and if we showed up after we’re done with work, it was 1:00 AM and we were exhausted, sober and uninterested in whatever shenanigans were taking place. We then started to miss our friends’ weddings and baby showers because our clients booked us before the other event was scheduled and a commitment is a commitment. For our friends whose weddings we were able attend, we volunteered to help and then we ended up trying to balance our professional instincts with being a guest, proving to be an impossible feat. We downplayed our own engagements and weddings because we didn’t want our clients to feel like they’re any less of a priority. We planned our pregnancies so that we don’t deliver during wedding season, only realize that there is never a good time for maternity leave. We lie awake at night worrying about emails we didn’t have time to answer and when we do sleep, we grind our teeth and dream about all the possible things that can go wrong at a wedding. We lose ourselves because we live to show up for our clients, our colleagues and our vendor teams. Work quickly becomes life and vendors become friends. It becomes such an integral part of our identity that the idea of self is so closely connected to helping other people celebrate, that you’re not quite sure who you are without it. 

My husband proposed on a Friday night and the next day, he flew out of state to attend a friend’s wedding and I headed to a private estate on the North Shore to do a wedding, awkwardly announcing the proposal to the catering team. The day I got married, I answered my phone while getting my hair done, thinking it was something about our wedding, but it was a client whose wedding was 3 weeks earlier asking a question about the top tier of her wedding cake. I could have told her I wasn’t available, but I didn’t. I checked email once on our honeymoon, and let me tell you, that was a mistake because I ended up feeling conflicted and guilty the remainder of the trip. I brought my laptop to Europe because I didn’t have time to finish a proposal for a new client before we left, and I ended up working for a little bit every day on, what has been, to date, my only trip to France and Spain. After arduous fertility treatments, at eight weeks pregnant, I began hemorrhaging and was told I needed strict bed rest. But I had a wedding, so I showed up, brought on more staff, at no expense to the client and explained to them why they would see me periodically sitting down throughout their event. They thanked me by writing a scathing review. 

At 33 weeks pregnant, after a week of hospitalized bed rest, my water broke at 1:00 PM on a Tuesday while I was slicing an apple in the kitchen of our new home in the suburbs. Before driving myself to the hospital in the city, I sat on a towel in my kitchen, wrapping up paperwork for all of my clients so that nothing would slip through the cracks and so everyone would feel comfortable in my absence. By the time I left, I got stuck in rush hour traffic and pulled up to my husband’s downtown office, holding the handle in the ceiling of our SUV, deep in a painful contraction. After I got my epidural, I answered more emails. After my preemie was born, I was discharged, leaving my heart in the NICU in downtown Chicago while we drove back and forth each day from home. I fielded text messages from anxious clients, who were caught off guard by my early labor, and wanted to talk. So I took conference calls while my mom drove to the hospital and I sat in the passenger seat, bleary eyed, aching, exhausted and broken, counting the minutes until I could see my baby and pretending to be engaged in a conversation about shades of coral and pink for a wedding 5 months away. Ten days after I delivered my baby and just a few days since we had been able to bring him home, I shuffled my still healing body back to the city for a 12 hour day of meetings with an out of state client, lugging around my breast pump and cooler, crying and pumping in floral studio bathrooms, cowered in quiet corners of hotels, empty offices and my car. During this time, I tried to ask for help but my voice had grown so quiet, I could barely hear myself. I had grown so accustomed to not reserving space for myself, that even simply recognizing and acknowledging boundaries felt like failure.

For almost two years, I agonized over the decision to leave the company I had helped to build. The pace was killing me and my attempts to slow down weren’t slow enough. At the time, Pope Benedict XVI announced his resignation to be effective in two weeks. I joked that “even the Pope can give his two-weeks-notice,” but I needed to finish my weddings over the following nine months. A few months before my baby’s second birthday, and after eight years building a brand, I finally severed ties and considered my options, but was really present in my life for the first time in years. I felt a physical weight lifted. But wedding planning drew me back because it was such a part of who I was, so I jumped into a new opportunity with another company that I thought could provide more balance and at the same time, challenge me to elevate my craft. That experience lasted three years and taught me lessons that have been invaluable. Lessons about who I am and who I am not. 

Three years ago, I launched my new business, after a long journey to fully step into who I am as a professional AND a person. I lead with my heart, as I always have, but I no longer try to be who I think my colleagues or clients want me to be. I just show up as myself and I set a pace to ensure that I am a whole person and not just perpetually pouring out to fill others’ expectations. I’ve taken on leadership roles within our industry and have watched an upward trajectory of my work and my business. Overnight, the business of gathering was no longer possible and I’ve found myself looking at a mostly empty summer calendar for the first time since before that hot summer Saturday in 2001. I’m back to wondering who I am without this part of my identity and what this magical world of weddings will look like on the other side of heartbreaking business closures, event cancelations and innovative pivot projects.

Looking on back on these years of my life, I have been a part of the growth and evolution of the wedding industry and weddings have been a huge part of how I have grown and evolved as a person. I can’t imagine another career that could allow me to celebrate love and family, all the while, with an intimate invitation to share in so many different cultures, religions, cuisine and traditions. It even taught me about my own heritage, allowing me to connect more closely with the religious and cultural traditions of my Jewish great grandfather and ancestors before. Through weddings, I’ve connected with couples and families who have become lifelong friends and who have influenced the way I show up in the world, for others, for my own marriage and as a mother. Weddings have enriched my life experience in ways I never could have anticipated and in ways I didn’t even recognize at the time.

As we look forward to the coming years, we know that nothing will ever be quite the same. This experience will forever change all of us and will change the way we celebrate. However, this quiet time of reflection has shown me that the way we celebrate has already forever changed me.