What if my idea of a ‘big day’ isn’t a wedding?

One Sunday morning a few months ago, I was awoken by the persistent ding of WhatsApp notifications. Bleary-eyed but curious to nail the culprit who had dragged me back to the world of the living at 7am on my day off, I glanced at the screen, then almost launched my phone into the wall. I’d been added to yet another bridesmaids group chat.

I’ve spent the better part of my twenties as a bridesmaid, a willing sacrificial lamb at the altar of my friends’ big days. Months in advance, I was conscripted into the chaotic trenches of choosing every outfit in their wedding trousseau, accompanying them to every dress fitting, curating complementary jewellery—basically becoming their personal stylist. I have been on the unofficial planning committee of more weddings than I can count, prepping and planning, discussing details and dress codes alongside deciphering the quirks of different family members to ensure everyone feels important. I didn’t mind. This momentous, priceless occasion in their lives was their ‘thing’ and I felt honoured to be a part of it. It felt like the ultimate litmus test of a friendship—one that I was determined to pass with flying colours.

First came the engagement parties and gifts. Then bridesmaid’s duties. Followed by bachelorette trips. Wedding outfits. More gifts. Then, like clockwork, we moved on to baby showers. Kids’ birthdays. You get the drift.

By the end of my twenties, when this cycle had been repeated around 15 times, a 27 Dresses-shaped thought began to form in my mind. What if I never have these moments? What if the love, time and money I had poured into these occasions would never be reciprocated just because a wedding isn’t my idea of a big day?

I recently bagged the dream job every one of my schoolmates knows I’ve been gunning for since I was 10. They watched me go from starry-eyed and sanguine to stressed and struggling, riding the ups and downs of a capricious career in fashion. If there was ever a moment for me, it was this. My milestone. I worked harder for this than I ever would for some guy I might marry. But beyond the standard congratulatory texts and five-minute phone calls, where was the fanfare? I’ve had to uproot my life, move cities and start over. If anything, this milestone warrants an air fryer or a mixer grinder, especially since I haven’t coalesced into a single unit with a double income.