Lily’s Vegas wedding was as cliché as my big day
Anyone else see the pictures of popstrel Lily Allen’s Vegas wedding to Stranger Things actor David Harbour and think, “Ooh, what a gorgeous frock…” swiftly followed by: “An Elvis impersonator? Really?”
Getting hitched in the self-styled Wedding Capital of the World is hardly original, given that Frank Sinatra, Bette Midler, Jon Bon Jovi and Joe Jonas have all tied the knot there.
But Allen, 35, looked ravishing in her Dior mini dress and so happy that only a churl would sneer at the cliché. Besides, in truth all weddings are clichés.
That’s what’s so lovely about them; in an age where ritual is rare you know what you’re doing, what you’re getting and (don’t tell the bride) all whimsical attempts at originality are wasted. The traditional church folderol, with ushers and page boys, flower girls and a guard of honour, is no more hackneyed than the loose-haired, barefoot beach equivalent or the devil-may-care metropolitan bus ride to the register office.
Whether you opt for Pachelbel’s Canon in D to 1 Corinthians 13 and its well-worn sentiment that “Love is patient, love is kind…” or the Game of Thrones theme and a wild boar food truck in the car park, it’s all been done before.
One couple’s tired old chestnut is another’s bliss. And that’s just as it should be. Some people dream of their big day all their lives and want no expense spared, while others are impatient to get the ceremony over and done with so they can get to the pub.
I was wed (cliché alert…) in St Lucia on the side of a mountain. I have no idea who my witnesses were, and can only surmise they had come from the hotel back office as they both wore smart suits.
My bouquet was ridiculous. There was a tropical downpour. The photographer kept insisting we stuff wedding cake into each other’s mouths, and I fell asleep, sitting bolt upright, at our romantic candlelit dinner-a-deux. Yet it was perfect – every last joyful moment. And, stereotyped or not, I wish the new couple every happiness.