Attack of the Indiezilla

When getting married becomes an elaborate display of unharnessed self-expression, the result is a wedding that doesn't look like a wedding at all.

• By Em & Lo
  Illustrations by Yuko Shimizu
• Published Winter 2006

When I was a little girl, I never dreamed of my wedding," says Kim. She grew up, became a lawyer, and fell in love with a drummer named Rob one night at CBGB's. "When I saw him, I had a vision that he'd be the father of my children"-but still, she didn't picture him in a tux waiting for her at the end of a rose-petal-strewn aisle. After they coupled up, Kim and Rob started throwing extravagant parties together. So when they decided to make a lifetime commitment, they wanted an event that would reflect their fun, funky, and seriously funny sensibilities.

"All I knew is that I wanted to wear a Gothic gown with a bustle, and everything kind of grew from there," says Kim. The average suit wasn't going to stand up next to Kim's dramatic attire, so Rob chose to dress like a knight in shining armor, sans armor. He explains, "Every evening we'd come up with ideas on how to put new spins on old traditions, and whichever one made us laugh the most, we went with." Thus, their costume-ball wedding was born.

Not unlike traditional Chinese nuptials-or Cher concerts-the event had three costume changes. The night began with Rob's galloping down the aisle of the Angel Orensanz Center, a burlap-clad groomsman following behind, clapping two halves of a coconut together. The best man, dressed as Olympic swimmer Mark Spitz-complete with seventies mustache and American-flag Speedo-dumped a pail of water on himself before heading down the aisle. And during the ceremony, a bridesmaid, as Wonder Woman, paid homage to the pagan wedding tradition of handfasting by binding the couple in her Lasso of Truth. Later, Kim and Rob performed their first dance in a two-person horse costume (says Rob, "She was the head, I was the ass"). And while their guests ate dinner-all 250 of them were in their own impressive costumes, including the couple's parents-some makeup-artist friends transformed Kim into the X-Men's blue-skinned Mystique (a non-naked version) and Rob into the Incredible Hulk. "You know how people have a list of things to do before the wedding?" Rob asks. "Ours was practice horse dance, remember to dye the mane and tail the same color, make Hulk costume."

Once upon a time, going the "nontraditional" route meant that you couldn't be bothered with the pomp and circumstance of an old-school white wedding. Maybe you'd pop into City Hall on your lunch break or kick off your flip-flops on a small-town beach with the local bartender as your witness. You were far from the madding crowd, though perhaps you took a photo to share with the family later. Not so anymore. Sure, couples still elope (for as long as there are weddings, there will be people who don't want their families to attend). But increasingly, offbeat weddings are elaborate affairs that can take even more effort, money, and emotional fortitude than their traditional counterparts. A few decades of feminism, an appreciation for the DIY aesthetic, a backlash against what some consider "wedding porn" (the deluge of bridal magazines, wedding shows, and celebrity nuptials), and that inherent New York need to be different have begun to chip away at the mold for getting married. Which leaves the betrothed wondering, When does self-expression become a narcissistic performance? And is it ever okay to offend the family with nontraditional choices? In other words, how does a couple decide between the bridal path of least resistance and the nuptial road less traveled?