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You know Frank—he's been writing about menswear, sales, television, new shops, the recession, Lisa Loeb, the Golden Girls and getting blasted for Racked for almost two years. Well, we think it's time you got to know him and his quirky-irreverent views on life and fashion even better with his column: Love, Frank. Taking the form of an open letter and always signed with love, Frank will rant about whatever style-related conundrum he encounters in a given week. So buckle your two-toned leather Moschino belts, folks, it's going to be ? Something.
Dear Potential Future Wedding Guests (Even if Said Wedding is Pure Fiction) and All Wedding Planners,
We’ve been to a lot of weddings. Big, gross, flashy Italian weddings in big, gross wedding-specific halls that boast Venetian tables piled with 37 desserts that somehow all manage to taste the same; big ticket faux-classy weddings that eschew actual taste and class for canned high-end touches like strawberries plunked in champagne flutes, filet mignon and a Rolls Royce; quirky, non-traditional weddings with retro, thrift shop décor, punk rock deejays and Indian catering; garden party weddings; destination weddings; country club weddings; even budget hillbilly weddings with hot dogs, potato chips and centerpieces cobbled together from dollar store trinkets and tiny blooming plants sourced from the local Wal-Mart.
Some favorite details: A ceremony under the Brooklyn Bridge and overlooking Manhattan; a pie buffet rather than a cake; a hot pink Chrysler 300 stretch limo; a bride who wore white Calvin Klein to the church and blue Derek Lam to the party; a mariachi band and guacamole cocktail hour; guitar pick wedding favors; an Italian antipasti spread; entertainment by indie rock deejay friends and an Irish step dancing team; an artisanal ice cream bar; couples who have relatives or entertaining female rabbis perform the ceremony; anything out-of-doors or with a view or including a photobooth; and hearing “Buffalo Stance” at each and every one.
A less favorite detail: Any wedding without an open bar.
We get it—it’s a significant added expense. But, allow us to break this down for any poors or cheapskates who are actually considering having their friends and family pay for their own drinks: Your guests are giving up a weekend, getting dressed up (they probably even bought something because what better excuse than a specific event to add to your wardrobe), buying you a gift (or writing a check), and spending $4 or more on an absolutely heinous, sniveling, drippy congratulations card that likely involves metallic ink, bows and beads (which, in addition to being unnecessarily costly, is rather embarrassing to go up and pay for).
They’re suffering through potentially mediocre catering (chicken capon, anyone?); they’re forced to endure religious ceremony and some occasionally terrible speeches; they’re carrying home often-useless favors; expected to pose for pictures and congratulate the couple on videotape; asked to make small talk with random strangers, forgettable acquaintances, frenemies and your relatives who you don’t even want to talk to.
What we’re getting at—as fun as weddings almost always end up being—they’re expensive for us too, kind of a slog, and probably not what we’d be be doing on a Saturday if we had the choice (we once missed a Blondie concert for a wedding; but after drunkenly (open bar) bullying the deejay into a Blondie block it ended up being totally fine).
The least you can do is water us. And it’s a win-win because everyone will have more fun if the bar is open. Your memories will be shinier; you’re pictures will be more fun—truly, it’s a small price to pay.
If you can’t afford the whole shebang than at least keep the wine and beer flowing (just avoid those cloying signature cocktails—especially sugary sweet ones with “adorable,” romantic names).
Anyway, back to our special day: The bulk of the budget will be devoted to the very open, very amazing bar and an incredible outfit for yours truly. Something timeless and gloriously fitted but a little on-the-nose and in-your-face (if we dress the way we dress on Tuesdays we are seriously getting dressed to walk down the aisle). And we think we found it the Fashion Week before last—spotting it from our seats at Simon Spurr’s spring/summer ’11 show.
It’s the final look: A three-piece suit fashioned from blue-on-white woven stripes. The trousers and waistcoat are striped horizontally. The jacket is striped vertically. The lapels are a bit wide. The fit is perfect. And we’ve looked for it everywhere—did it never get made? No matter: We’ll be custom ordering it, made-to-measure, for that special some day. So, get ready Simon (and don’t worry, we’re prepared to pay through the nose).
Fair warning: We’re going to need that mustard trench (look 8) as well—we need to top that suit up with something as we set out from the reception (in a ‘60s-era Mercedes) for the honeymoon or whatever. It gets chilly at night by the ocean in September.
Yeah, but other than all of that, we’ve hardly thought about it.
· Love, Frank [Racked]