Morning lovelies, Charlotte here…*waves*, after a recent discussion with Madame Pamela and the success of her Lack Of Aisle Style post we asked her to return and share her desire for a distinct lack of social media coverage for W-day…..as always please leave your thought in the comments box below!
OK, so, the Big C and I will, ever so politely, be asking our guests not to post our wedding photos on social networking sites. The reason for this is not because we have an exclusive, six-figure deal with a celebrity magazine (completley shocking, I know) and neither is it because I’ve come over all diva-esque in a ‘Mental pictures, no cameras please’ Rita Ora kind of way (again, somewhat shocking, but with just eight weeks to go I’m trying to keep my inner Mariah on lock down – don’t want the Big C ‘doing one’ because the pressure of finding eight puppies as white as the snow got too much).
You see, I’m the type of girl that is all about the foreplay (don’t worry; this post isn’t going to be about those type of photos!). I live for the build up to events and momentous occasions. That girl’s night out that isn’t until the end of the month? Well I’ve already planned 57 possible outfits, debated, discarded and decided on bars and clubs, run around the house in false eyelashes so long that really they belong to Ermentrude the cow (‘Just needed to check that yes, they are totally impractical and therefore truly suitable’) and made 162 phone calls to my best friend making nothing but an excitable ‘eeeeeeeee’ noise down the phone (we have an understanding that if it goes on longer than seven minutes she can hang up). And yes, if a standard night out does that to me, I do realise there is a high possibility I will give myself some kind of stroke in the run up to the wedding, but he is promising in sickness and in health…
Anyhow, how does that relate to wedding photos? Well, I am preparing for the dreaded wedding comedown …yes, yes, yes, I know I shall have a lovely, shiny new husband, an even lovelier and shinier new honeymoon wardrobe (sorry, dearie, but you are nearly 30 now, and those floral trews are fresh out of the Zara orange tissue paper) and a super trip to look forward to, but it’s just not going to be the same is it? I mean, what is it going to be like when there is no wedding regalia in the guest bedroom and someone could actually sleep in there?!
So, when we get back from our honeymoon, I want something to ‘ooooo’, ‘aaaaaahhhh’ and ‘eeeeeee’ over and that something is going to be our wedding photos. I want to see all those magical moments from our day; the ones that I can remember, the ones that I can’t and the ones that when I’m 87 and everything has gone south will prove that yes, I was indeed a bride, and, not just any bride, a pretty darn good one at that. They’ll also prove that the Big C was a most dashing and spectacular groom, and I had indeed chosen well (I totally chose him, even though he was pushing a wheelie bin when we met. And, no he isn’t a refuse collector). Stuff like that is going to be important to garner any kind of credibility with any potential grandchildren…they will need to know the nana was once a fox!!
Seeing our wedding photos is going to be a Quality Street moment. And, I don’t want my rather expensive chips (because come on, wedding snaps aren’t exactly a cheap do are they?) pi*sing on by coming back from honeymoon to a deluge of Facebook / Twitter / Instagram photos (delete as appropriate) that show off my Bruce Forsyth chin, the moment when I got my skirt caught in the beige-flavoured sausage underwear, the bit where I had to ever so slightly give the Big C’s arm an ever so gentle squeeze because he was getting ever so slightly too drunk, the drama when I dropped a bit of my mum’s famous cheese and sausage pie down the dress, and the part where I have to go and have a wee cry behind the stage curtain because it’s all getting a bit much. And yes, ALL those things are going to happen – I am so sure of it that I may as well schedule them into the day’s running order.
Perhaps that all sounds a tad vain, but I’m OK with that. Me and the best friend have a catchphrase for when we see girls (and boys) on our travels that look amazing and we want to give them props – ‘We like a look’. We like seeing a pretty end product…Chezza’s new video for ‘Call My Name’ – I’m transfixed – but when it comes to ‘The Making of the Video’ show….nah, not so much. Which is why, and this is possibly an entirely other debate, there won’t be any pictures of me in my rollers on the morning of the wedding (even though I will quite happily nip out to M&S at Handforth Dean in them before a night out – emergency suntan tights – the daddy of all flesh coloured tights, people don’t even know you’re wearing them). Of course, I am well aware that every single person in that church is going to know that some serious effort will have gone into the look, that I didn’t just wake up with my hair in an uber-do, cats-eye make up a la a Kardashian, and a waist (this bit is a dream, clearly) to rival Kylie’s corseted number, but come on, let me have my magic folks!
And, the magic isn’t just for me. I want all our guests to have a really smashing day. I don’t want them to miss a moment because they’re caught up trying to capture said moment through a viewfinder so they can document their attendance on Facebook. I read this article and it certainly made me think…
So, whilst we’re not going so far as to ban cameras totally, because for lots of our guests photography is a bit of a passion and if getting snap happy is your thing, then snap away kids, but we are going to be popping a nice note at the front of our orders of service that lets people know our lovely photographers are going to be on hand doing well, what photographers do…We’ve also set up a Flickr account where guests can upload their unofficial wedding snaps after the day, so if you’re an upload junkie (which I totally am, there really is a lot of satisfaction to be gained from a successful upload) then you can still get you fix.
However, despite all of the above, I am well aware that someone is going to stick a picture up on Facebook, because unfortunately, and aside from my belief that I would be quite good in the role (I would totally rock those jewels), I am not the Queen. I cannot decree how things should be, even on my wedding day, and certainly not after the event. And you know, what, it really won’t be the end of the world if they do. So maybe, what I should really be saying in my order of service note is this:
“Be kind people. Post whatever you like, but whoever makes the Bruce F in a wedding dress comment…have you seen my new husband? He was the six foot five, pretty darn big and strong man stood at the top of the aisle with me. You know, the one in the James Bond suit. And boy, does he love that Brucie – watch your back.”