Volume IV: Always a Bridesmaid, Never the Fat Fingered Bride
March 22nd, 2025—who could have guessed its significance? Certainly not us. And yet, as fate would have it, we both found ourselves as bridesmaids in our best friends’ weddings on the very same day. We prepped together, updating each other along the way, treating their weddings as our own personal Met Gala. Months of sending dress options, shoe contenders, hair and makeup inspiration, detailed run-of-show breakdowns—meticulously preparing for the big day as if we were the ones walking down the aisle.
Neither of us has ever been the type to daydream about our own weddings, but we always assumed they’d be fun—a big college reunion, minus the people we don’t like. We knew they’d be special, but I don’t think either of us fully grasped the weight of it all until we were in the thick of it. As we recapped the tears, the overwhelming love, the pure joy of it all, one thing became abundantly clear: we will never, EVER forget March 22nd.
And selfishly, it got us thinking about our own weddings in the years to come. As fat-fingered girls, we may never master the effortlessly chic engagement ring selfie for Instagram, but we will have each other (and, fine, our husbands too, I guess)—and really, what more could we possibly need?
Andri
As I sit in the American Airlines lounge in the Charlotte International Airport (using a day-pass obviously), Jamie, the bartender pours me another free glass of their complimentary Cabernet Sauvignon. I look at my phone, see another flight delay, and do my best to ignore the travel anxiety working its way through me, needing to get home after spending ten days in California.
Thinking about this week's piece - trying, desperately, to hold onto my post-spring break high despite American Airlines’ best efforts - I am reminded back on our dear Libby Davis’s recent substack posting February. She writes (incredibly well I might add) about recently experiencing one of the best weekends of the year while focusing on her “C’est la vie” lifestyle. While I am not just plugging this because of my recent duo-lingo streak, I feel like recently, life has a funny way of making things work out.
I felt this way after attending one of my best friend's weddings this past weekend. It was my first time being a bridesmaid and I had the honor of stepping into a role that I swear a lifetime of being my friend's hype woman, emotional support confidant, and spending summers at an all female summer camp had trained me for. Let’s be real: a good bridesmaid is 30% personal assistant, 30% social director, 20% human Xanax, and 20% making sure everyone is sober enough to successfully walk down the aisle (I am looking at YOU, Portia Gifford). While I have spent years training in the art of getting ready with your best friends and last-minute dress steaming, it all took on a different weight when it came to doing it for Cam.
Cam is one of my best friends in the way that she has taken me to the hospital after getting stabbed (story for another time) at my worst, and will get Shirley temples and watch the Bee Movie with me at my best. Someone who has seen me at my smallest and loved me anyway, belly-laughing every second we are together. She got married (hi, Doug) under a breathtaking arch of flowers in the golden glow of the Southern Californian afternoon, wearing a white dress that could put Kendall Jenner to shame, her hands only trembling slightly as she read her vows. Me, along with the other bridesmaids, sat staring up at her in awe, the pre-aisle tequila shot kicking in, crying so much we all started hyperventilating (maybe just me).
Throughout the night, there were spicy margaritas, laughter that carried through the evening air, and a bride so beloved that everyone wanted just one more moment with her. I cried more - of course, I did - but not out of sadness. It was the kind of crying when you see something beautiful and true, when you witness love that is easy, not because it is always easy, but because it is certain. I cried for the years that led her there, for the morning after the famed 2017 Sigma Nu date dash (themed wizards and sluts for the real Harry Potter fans) when she admitted she had a crush on a nice Jewish boy, for the moments after spent discussing their future, for the way she looked at him like she had finally arrived where she was meant to be.
(I am crying as a write this also)
I couldn’t help thinking of Sissy - the best friend I share the mess of my life with, the one who understands the language of my silence and the weight of my laughter. We are not quite ready yet - for white dresses, for rings, for first dances under a canopy of stars, but someday we will be. And when that day comes, I will stand right by her side, watching her step into the life that is waiting for her that she deserves so much (with tears of course).
I may be writing this from the sad excuse of an airport lounge (seriously SO confused on how this is the best they can do), but Southern California stayed, and so did the feeling. The quiet kind of happiness that lingers, almost saying She is loved. She is happy. And so am I. And one day, it will be our turn.
Sissy
It’s often said that New Orleans isn’t just a place, it’s a feeling. I’ve quoted it a million times throughout college, COVID, silly trips visiting my friends, but being there for my best friend Molly’s wedding, I really felt it. Like in my bones I felt it.
The past few months have been rough. Searching for a new job and the grayness of New York winter really took its toll. I had 1,000,000 emotional releases throughout this. Matt puts the cutting board in the dishwasher before I’m done, tears. I miss my yoga class for a meeting, tears. The Wild Robot, so many tears. Touching down at MSY for Molly’s wedding, tears, but not like the others. These felt exciting, nostalgic, and proud. Similar to Cam and Doug, Molly and George’s relationship started freshman year evolving from a french class crush and SAE parties. I can remember her telling me about him for the first time and as I walked into the venue where the chairs were set up for everyone to watch them get married, I feel like I finally understood surrealism (sorry Dalí). I wonder what freshman year, OTBT wearing, all girls dorm living us would think if we could’ve seen us at that moment. They would’ve done the mannequin challenge.
No one tells you that the responsibility of being a bridesmaid is much bigger than it seems. Not because Molly asked anything of me, but because when you love someone so much that even the thought of them gives you goosebumps, you want everything to be perfect for them. Each part felt special. When Margaret and I started our poem at the rehearsal dinner and Molly began to cry, I felt the urge to interrupt myself and share with the room about her loyalty, her sense of humor, her deep empathy, how she puked all over my foot at a date party. I kinda thought this is what 18 year old boys must feel like joining the military in 2001, proud to serve my country but not my country, my best friend.
No one told me how fun it would be either. How special I felt getting my face professional beat, how special it feels being in an all day champagne haze with friends I rarely get to see, and how special it feels seeing someone you love in their wedding dress for the first time, peeking through the window and watching them read their vows. Watching the first dance to You’re My Home with a perfect dip we all practiced together the night before. Stealing the stage from the band and shrieking Pink Pony Club. Breaking the narrative I know I’m rambling, but really I had that much fun. Fuck. I love Molly.
Honor sounds cheesy, but celebrating your best friends is an honor. A wedding day being “special” and “the best day ever” sounded fake, but now I’m not so sure it is. When the time comes (mother I know you are reading this and do not get excited it is not soon for either of us) I can’t wait to be in the room with Andri. I can’t wait to celebrate every little moment and thing about her and the love she gets to receive and offer. Again breaking narrative, but my goosebumps are insane right now.
Giving a piece of your best friend to someone else is difficult, it evokes a type of jealousy I had never experienced. A type where you think back on every memory and then think about the future and all the memories in which you will not be included. But being a bridesmaid also taught me that doesn’t matter. They’re still your same friend and impossible to replace. In Molly’s case no man can pick her up and shove her shoes on her feet after walking barefoot on Bourbon. The best thing you can do as an inseparable is do anything for your friend’s happiness.
Cultural Digest:
Reading:
Andri: The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco - Yassified DaVinci Code
Sissy: NEW HUNGER GAMES
Listening To:
Andri: The Giver - Chapelle Roan SPRING HAS SPRUNG PEOPLE
Sissy: Nothing New - Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers (the wedding peaked my nostalgia)
Watching:
Andri: Temptation Island and Under the Tuscan Sun
Sissy: Any 2010s sitcom you can think of, recently moved on to rewatching 30 Rock
Dream Wedding Venue:
Andri: Wequassett Resort and Club in Chatham, MA - overlooking Pleasant Bay <3
Sissy: Phillips Collection in Washington, DC… right next to the Georgia O'Keefe's
This is such a triumph
Perfect perfect perfect