When my partner and I decided to get married, the most luxurious thing I could think of was eloping and telling no one, all while wearing as many elaborate dresses as possible. I wouldn’t tease it on social media–no posting about the getting ready process, no publicizing shopping for a wedding dress. The wedding would just happen. And for both me and my husband-to-be, it would entail less planning, less stress, and–frankly–less worrying about people other than ourselves. No expectations, no demands, no seating arrangements. Just us. We’d been a couple for over ten years, we didn’t need to make a big spectacle of our vows. We could do it our way.
And that’s what we did, in the form of two elopements. Yes, two. The first, in July 2023, was an add-on to the end of one of my work trips to Paris to cover the haute couture shows. We traveled from Paris to Brittany, on France’s northern coast, for an exchange of vows and photoshoot–in a wheat field, on an abandoned beach, amid the ruins of an ancient abbey. Elopement #2 took place the following month. At 7 a.m. on a steamy August morning, we took shelter in the shade of Central Park’s ornate, cast-iron Ladies Pavilion, built in 1871, and guided by the nomadic Rev Annie–she’ll travel to marry you anywhere in New York City, at any time–we exchanged vows again. This time, we were getting married in the eyes of the law–and in the eyes of the passersby, friendly New Yorkers walking their dogs and drinking their morning coffees, offering their congrats to us without breaking stride. We did invite a few guests to this oh-so-intimate ceremony: my mom, my husband’s mom, and his sister. That’s it.