I’ve been invited to a wedding next year that will be gorgeous. It’s along the British coast in a beautiful small town, and we’ll be staying in a quaint hotel. Activities around the wedding involve going for a swim in the sea the morning of the big day, after a night of good food and wine at a nearby pub. I can already picture us all bracing ourselves at the edge of the cold sea, still smiling at the fresh memory of the drunken night before — a night that will have been full of laughter, inside jokes, sharing, and toasts to the couple we’re all there to celebrate. And that’s all before the wedding itself, after which the partying won’t stop until hours beyond all the women have swapped their heels for flats. These friends have the most impeccable taste when it comes to dining experiences and venues, so I’ve no doubt everything is going to be perfect. It’s also all so utterly them. A warm glow came over me just imagining it all.
But I don’t know if I can afford it. My other friends attending the wedding are almost all in serious relationships, so are attending with their partners. I looked up the cost of the hotel room for the two nights, and the price quoted was “pp” (per person), which always means this isn’t the full cost, and the assumption is made that at least two will be in the room. As a single person, I sighed. The cost is out of my reach to foot alone — we’re talking over £300 ($397), not including the cost of a six-hour train journey and taxi to the location. The marrying couple has arranged for single guests to pay the same as couples for one of the nights at the hotel, which is extremely considerate (and to my ears, unheard of). But, the far location from my home means staying two nights is necessary, and it’s the second night’s stay without that deal that bumps up the price significantly. So, I went to Airbnb and other hotels. Though a tad cheaper, they’re still costly without being able to split it with someone. It would also mean not actually being in the venue with everyone else. Plus extra taxi costs. Upon seeing the numbers, I started to wonder if I could financially justify going.
As we move through our 20s and 30s, the decades people typically get married (and we’re on our lowest salaries at the beginnings of our careers), we all know economic power fluctuates between friend groups dramatically. I have friends who earn three times what I do, others double, and some around the same as me or even a little less. In most contexts though, I’m at the lower end of the spectrum compared to friends in very different industries (you don’t go into journalism for a love of money, I’ll tell you that much). It doesn’t become more apparent than at a wedding, fancy birthday meal out, or far flung trip involving four-star hotels. It’s never just about accommodation and travel either, it’s the gift, the outfit, the cabs, the logistical planning of how to get there. Where couples can go halves and help each other out with the actual spending and the effort to organise, single people are left to do it all for themselves.
I’ve only been to two friends’ weddings so far. One was in London, so it was easy to travel to and inexpensive to attend. I spent less than £10 ($13) on public transport, wore an outfit I already owned, and didn’t need a hotel. The other one was up far north of the country, so involved a £60 ($79.50) train ticket and a hotel for three nights (the hen do was included in this trip, hence the longer stay). Back then, my salary was much lower than it is now, and again the hotel rate was financially intimidating. So, I ended up sharing a room with one of the groomsmen, which brought my hotel cost to under £200 ($265). I’d have preferred to not do this, sharing with someone I hardly knew. Maybe if I’d been on a comfortable salary in a finance role I wouldn’t have been in that situation, or if I’d been further along in my career I’d have had the money to book a room alone without hesitation.
After a couple of days of thinking about the hotel cost of next year’s wedding, I got lucky. A close friend of mine won’t be attending with her partner this time, so we’ve decided to share a room together. Both of us are grateful for the money we’ll save this way (and for the girly getting-ready-together that’ll happen). But it struck me how much my ability to go has hinged on someone else being willing to split a room with me. After hearing friends older than me complain for years about the cost of weddings and all the events leading up to them, I was like, “I finally get it. This is extortionate.”
Of course, weddings are expensive for us all — for the marrying couple too, no less! But the reality is, the chunkiest expenses can be shared between couples, where they can’t be for single people. Research by Morgan Stanley predicts 45% of women aged between 25 and 44 will be single by 2030. If I don’t shack up with someone soon, this most recent invite has made me truly realise how costly the upcoming decade is going to be. Am I going to have to turn down any future invitations after crunching the numbers? Maybe. That won’t be because I don’t want to go, it will be because I genuinely can’t. Though, declining wedding invites can feel emotionally charged — there are whole Reddit and Mumsnet threads dedicated to whether you can do this and if you’re brave enough, how to. Then there are the threads discussing lost friendships over declining a wedding invite. I really hope when that day likely comes it’s met with understanding, not hostility. Though if I’m wishing for things, a committed partner and a six-figure salary that lets me spend without a care would be great, thanks… We can all dream.
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