The honesty you deserve. The help you need.
I only spent maybe a month looking for a venue before I started losing it. My coffee shop basically runs itself, which meant I could focus on it full time. I looked at hundreds of venues. Contacted dozens. Spent entire days doing nothing but this one thing. I started feeling crazy and I couldn’t understand why. (My understanding would come much later.)
Why am I getting so upset? Why is this so difficult? Why am I spending so much time on this?
I’m an older bride. Fifty, to be exact. I’ve been a self-employed business owner for three decades. I built my business from the ground up. I know how to deal with contractors, wholesalers, distributors, managers, employees, attorneys, inspectors, and..... vendors. I consider myself to be pretty competent. I thought this would be a piece of cake. How in God’s name did one month of searching for a venue almost break me?
They wouldn't tell me what anything cost. I'd send emails and ask questions and get back boilerplate responses. Congratulations on your engagement! How exciting! Tell us about your vision!
It felt like walking into a retail store where the sales associate is overly eager and friendly — but you know it’s not because they actually like you.
After falling in love with a half a dozen venues only to find out in the very, very small print that it didn’t meet my requirements, I started to think: “Bitch, just tell me what it costs and can I have candles or not, because at this point I just might have the wedding in my backyard.”
But then I remembered — everyone says to hire a planner. So I hired a full-service planner. I thought to myself: Ah-ha! I’m being savvy now! I’m going to get this handled! She’ll know the tricks. She’ll be my co-conspirator and shield me from all this nonsense.
Instead I got someone who moved slowly, sent generic information, and didn’t really seem to understand what I actually wanted. I remember she asked me some questions while we looked at my Pinterest but it was so casual. Her mood board was lame. Her decor suggestions, her furniture suggestions, none of it reflected anything I’d shown her.
When I told her I wanted a photographer who was proficient in low light photography, she told me — in the tone of someone explaining difficult news to a child — that flash and spotlights were just how it was.
I ended up finding a multi-award-winning photographer who had fantastic and intentional low light photos in his gallery. He only did 20 weddings a year and was very selective in his decision to work with me. I am certain she would have never been able to find him, even though it was explicitly what I had asked for.
But the moment when I actually really lost it was when I trusted her with something personal.
I gave her a loose profile of one guest who for my own mental health would need a dedicated point person for the reception. Before I could elaborate, she jumped straight into referring to our contract’s clause about “a threat or implied threat of injury or harm” and said she wasn’t going to put herself or her assistants in an uncomfortable situation.
I was taken aback and after some back and forth I finally asked: “Are you suggesting that this guest would sexually harass you or your assistant?” She confirmed yes and referred to our contract again.
She took my typical, garden-variety, annoying family dynamic and escalated it into a dangerous and frankly disgusting liability. I was furious I couldn’t fire her.
Why is everyone treating me like I need special handling? Why is information so hard to get? I am competent and smart. Why am I being treated like a child?
And then, three months in and already over budget, it hits me: I am not a repeat customer. My desire to create a beautiful, magical day is being used against me. They have been using my excitement and joy against me this whole time. I am being handled and placated at every turn by people who see my wedding as dollar signs and me as the soft target in the middle of it.
I saw things clearly now and I was infuriated.
We are planning what everyone says is going to be the best day of our lives. It should feel celebratory. We’re creating something beautiful for the people we love. Instead it’s a gauntlet of withheld information, predatory pricing, and an industry-wide attitude that brides are too emotional, too naive, too starry-eyed to know any better.
This is not a broken industry. It’s a $66 billion a year industry. And every. single. dollar. was extracted from a bride.
As it turns out, at the time of this writing, I am still planning my wedding. Just today I double checked a price on a band given to me by my planner. There was a $2,000 difference when I told them it was for a backyard bbq. It has just been one thing after another. And I’m just so fucking pissed off about it.
I’m not building Unveiled out of passion. I’m building it out of fury. Once I am finished, not one more bride who comes after me will have to go through what I have. I’m going to leave this place better than I found it.
Welcome to Unveiled.