No call to spend it like Beckham
I’M A Feltz. For all I know an illiterate clerk once made a slip of the quill and I’m just one misplaced consonant away from being a close relative of Brooklyn Beckham’s bride Nicola Peltz. As an almost family member and a veteran of three big Jewish weddings – one my own, two I orchestrated for my daughters – I feel uniquely qualified to lob my view into the cauldron of opinions on Beckham-Peltz simmering across the planet.
Was this nuptial knot-tying an extravaganza of conspicuous consumption? The answer is definitely in the affirmative. Both sides, of course, can comfortably fund the £3-12 million extravaganza without scrimping. So shouldn’t they be entitled to do what the rest of us do – staging the most gorgeous festivities for our offspring? Of course the bride wore custom-made couture Valentino. Her dad’s a billionaire. You didn’t seriously expect her to caper up the aisle in a little number from Monsoon, did you?
Their three-day epic wedding, stretching across a long weekend and imprisoning guests for an eternity in a whirlwind of brunches and barbecues with fellow revellers they don’t know can’t be blamed on the Beckhams or the Peltzes.
I didn’t subject my guests to such prolonged torture, but I do understand the urge to get your money’s worth out of a giant marquee and wine and dine your relatives so thoroughly you don’t have to bother inviting them again till the next bar mitzvah.
DO THE exuberant celebrations look a touch tone-deaf compared with the atrocities endured by innocent Ukrainians? Yes, but then a carefree ice-cream in Blackpool while roaring with laughter at a joke also looks uncaring when Ukraine folk are suffering immeasurable loss. Ordinary families haven’t called off weddings in sympathy with refugees, so why should the Beckham-Peltz clans?
Now let’s get to the important part. Are expensive weddings more or less likely to result in happy marriages? Don’t ask me. Mine featured 23 ushers in white tie and tails, 10 bridesmaids, three rabbis and a dress closely resembling the cake. The marriage crumbled 14 years later.
Do I think the ex-husband would have stuck around longer if my dad had stumped up for inferior canapés and a mix-tape instead of a 10-piece band? Alas, I do not.