f-word

Can We Be Liberated By Tradition?

When I got engaged at 34, I quickly found that the “b” word (bride) had a hard time living happily ever after with the “f” word (feminism). I got the message that brides were supposed to be human Barbie dolls, searching for the perfect gown, outfitting our Dreamhouses with high-end cookware and other expensive registry items.
I’d owned a company for 15 years, written two books, slept with over 30 men and traveled the world. Was I suddenly supposed to act all girly, burst into tears as Dupioni silk touched my skin, and agonize over floral arrangements?

Besides, my feminism was borne of outrage at the subservient roles my mother and grandmother played in their marriages. In 1972, women were no longer considered their husband’s property, but the roots of this tradition still showed in my family. In my hardcore world, ‘bride’ was a fantasy role best suited to a six-year-old playing dress-up. ‘Wife’ was a threat to my sexiness, independence, and self-determination. What did either have to do with love or reality?

It hit me during a pedicure. The day before my wedding, as my toes were being painted Date With a Dream, my wedding planner (yes, I had one—and any sane woman should, too) called my cell phone. I reclined in my massage chair as she delivered her report: The lounge furniture had arrived at the loft (check), the caterer needed a few more copper chafing dishes (shit), but if we downgraded from square plates to round, we’d save $1.19 per item and come in under budget (phew!). The florists and their team were setting up, the hotel would send champagne up to my suite, and the musicians were confirmed.

I thought to myself, What if I ran my company this way? As a business owner, I fall easily into the female guilt trap. “I’ll do it myself—you just go home early,” I tell my assistants. As a bride, I felt entitled to let a fleet of experts work their magic without interfering. My job was to simply allow them to do their thing, give direction and feedback as needed, and sign checks.

It’s what CEOs and male executives do every day. And you know what? It felt awesome. Were this a corporation instead of a wedding, my planner would be my Senior Vice-President, each vendor a division manager. I thus escaped Bridezilla-dom—which is simply a cruel label slapped on women trying to run their lives, earn a living, and plan a major life event without enough help—much like an under-resourced company.

Of course, it was only in the most traditional role a woman can play—a bride—that I experienced this free pass to be powerful. It was almost expected of me. “You’re the bride,” people gushed. “It’s all about you today.” Talk about a fantasy. Now that the veil and dress are packed up, the flowers dried and the magical day over, can the liberation last?

Ophira Edut is the author of Body Outlaws: Rewriting the Rules of Beauty and Body Image (Seal Press) and the astrologer for Brides.com. She lives in New York City.

~Ophira Edut