no matter what,

No matter what,

this is a story of love

and

Marriage. I can’t say the word never resonated with me. I remember being 16 years old, having sleepovers with my besties, combing through bridal magazines, cutting out favorite photos of flowers, rings, dresses and colors. 16 years old and planning a wedding. The event every fairy tale had told us was the finish line. I decided I would be married by 27. I picked a number much older than the going age for most girls in my small Missouri hometown. I had my heart set on bright lights, big city, so I padded myself a few extra years before I would tie the knot and become Mrs. New Last Name.

the day was march 9, 2018. 3/9/18. in numerology the 18 becomes a 9, so for all intents and purposes, we shall forever remember the day as 399. an angelic number if i’ve ever seen one. you see, 39 is a blessed count, and with an extra 9? this was entirely planned.

Cut to 399. A few months shy of 32. The wedding day. No guests. No flowers. No rings. My “dress,” consisting of trousers. His “tux,” gown inclusive. I suppose you would dub our wedding color white. It was certainly the most traditional thing we did.

i’ve always planned on being a husband — my own version of one. not that i “prince charming” dreamt of it, but being from a family where everyone had been divorced at least once, it was a tradition i was prepared to re-shape. everyone loves a big wedding, said no one ever. we knew we wanted to be married at the courthouse. the office of the city clerk at 141 worth street in lower manhattan, to be exact. immediately upon entrance of this landmark, the rush of love almost makes you catatonic. from street vendors outside selling rings and flowers, to couples and families passing by from all walks of life, their outfits representing various parts of the world. from the seemingly proper acceptance and recognition of gender and sexuality, to the structure’s deeply rooted history and porous marble walls, which absorb pure devotion in human form. from the smiling faces of the employees, security guards, police officers, all of whom are strangers, all welcoming the holiest of matrimony. there’s even something romantic about the metal detector if you could imagine. but our day started way before said courthouse.

Honestly, it’s shocking that it happened this way. My religious upbringing had told me it would be different. Young ladies like myself went from their parents’ home to their husband’s home, no pit stops. They certainly didn’t have “write about it for a queer publication!” pasted in their childhood wedding scrapbook. They probably also didn’t marry bisexual men while simultaneously dating women.

the looks are everything we’ve ever dreamed of. genderbending ensembles designed by our dear friend andrew morrison. timeless androgynous paraphernalia mimicking romanesque sculpture that fluidly blends masculine and feminine. in this relationship, we both wear the pants and the dress. we put on our faces and machinery, finally topping each other off in crowns. duh, we wore crowns. not for the gag of it all, but because it feels like something we’ve done in the past, so we had to keep the tradition alive. in this life’s iteration, this is, in fact, our royal wedding.