Why I Quit My Bridesmaid Duties Marisa Meltzer

I was surprised when Sophie — that’s not her real name, but we’ll call her that — asked me to be a bridesmaid in her upcoming wedding to her longtime boyfriend.

She was one of my first friends when I moved to New York in 2003. We were coworkers at a small magazine with a manipulative, cartoon-villain style boss. I was prone to crying at my desk and she once took pity on me and took me out to lunch for steak frites to cheer me up. 

We bonded but I lasted only about three months at that job. We remained in each other’s orbit, but weren’t frankly all that close. We were the kind of friends who would get dinner once or twice a year and go to each other’s birthday parties but leave early. 

Even though, or maybe because I was taken off guard, I said yes to being in the wedding. The truth was I didn’t want to do it. I was broke and finishing a book, so I had both little time and money. And I’m just not the kind of person who delights in watching a friend try on wedding dresses or choose china patterns. I thought it was a little weird, maybe even a little sad that she asked me — I didn’t think I was close enough to her to merit the invite. But I didn’t think you could say no to that kind of request. I told myself I should feel flattered. My solution was to pretend like the wedding planning wasn’t happening. 

Sophie made sure her wedding was not something I could ignore for long. First there was the dress. It could be anything, she said. Anything! As long as it was the right cut and shade of gray. And she approved of it. I sent her a photo of a dress I owned, but she vetoed it for being too casual. She sent an email to us bridesmaids (there were a couple others, old childhood friends I didn’t know) with a sampling of dark gray silk chiffon bridesmaid dresses she liked. “I really want the dresses to be shorter, not uptight,” she wrote. “I kindasorta took pity on you all, and made sure that no dress was more than $300.”

I glanced at the unflattering gowns I would surely never wear again and promptly deleted the email. I was fully aware I was being, for lack of a better term, a selfish jerk. 

The Internet is full of similar tales of bridesmaid woe. “I’m remembering what a control freak she is. I’ve pretended to give a hoot at countless dress fittings and didn’t even complain that the dresses she picked for us were hideous and $500,” one anonymous bridesmaid wrote. Another complained of “thousands of emails, including a spreadsheet, and one that provided a bit of a Bridesmaid Manifesto for our obligations.

I should have just said no in the first place. “If you’re invited to be in someone’s wedding, it’s perfectly fine to decline the invitation,” Elaine Swann, a etiquette expert and author of Let Crazy Be Crazy, which is a how-to guide for dealing with what she calls “crazy folk,” which includes most brides. “Whether you can’t take another wedding or finance or distance reasons, let that bride know.” I wish I had heeded her advice.

The problem with ignoring an upcoming marriage was that wedding planning is in constant forward motion. There are endless to-do lists. A week or two later, Sophie called to inquire as to why I was being such a delinquent about my dress. She asked if maybe I hadn’t bought one because I needed a plus size dress, or one that covered my arms. I said no to both and silently fumed. 

A few days later I received and email from Sophie addressed to all of us bridesmaids. I sensed oncoming doom. “First, this email is an obvious cry for help,” she began. I steeled myself for the worst. “I am stewing in various wedding-related pits of despair and rage with no one to talk to. So I thought I’d reach out to you.” 

The email went on for a couple thousand words about her frustrations: “Everyone is giving their two cents, but no one is really GIVING,” and “I have literally had to compromise every single one of my own personal fantasy images in order to make things work.” I felt sorry for her. 

But then she turned on us bridesmaids. In past weddings as a bridesmaid she had acted just as badly as we were behaving, she said. “So perhaps this is the way of the world and I should just realize it is my turn to suffer… I’ve gotten to the point where my upset silence is not serving me well.” Perhaps her mistake was not marrying when we were all younger and less jaded, and we would want to be more involved. But we had been picky, and we had been flaky, and we hadn’t been putting her needs first. 

I forwarded the email to a few friends to confirm that what I was dealing with was a woman unhinged. And then I did what I should have done weeks before and simply quit the wedding. I called her on the phone. She was crying. I said that she was right: I wasn’t doing a very good job of mustering up enthusiasm. I told her it was because I was too caught up in my own issues, but the truth was I just didn’t think we were very good friends. I promised her I would come to the wedding, but I just couldn’t be in it. She offered to buy me a dress, apologized for her email, offered anything that could help me, but my mind was set.

I asked Swann if I should have taken her to lunch. “If you have to bow out, there’s nothing wrong with doing it. Just be as gentle as possible and don’t prolong it — get out as quickly as you got in.” Calling her was fine, but I should have made myself available another way, like handing out programs.

When the wedding came around, I showed up with a smile on my face, wearing a black dress I already owned. I sat down and watched the ceremony. Sophie looked the part of the perfect bride, and so did her remaining bridesmaids in their gray chiffon. I was happy for her and relieved to be watching it in the pews, just where I belonged.