I Thought Weddings Were No Longer Part of My Life
After turning forty, I honestly believed wedding invitations would never find their way to me again.
At the end of May, I broke up with my partner and decided to embrace a simple, solitary life, preparing quietly for old age. I even cleared out my wardrobe—including the outdated dresses I had once worn to weddings.
And then, out of the blue, it happened.
The only fellow “lifelong bachelor” from my design school days sent me a wedding invitation.
It arrived via LINE, complete with a one-click RSVP. Thank you, digital transformation.
At the Ceremony
Buying a new dress felt unnecessary, so I booked a rental shop in Omotesando and chose the first one I tried on. The coordinator looked visibly relieved, as if thinking, Thank goodness she’s not a difficult customer.
On the big day, I had my hair styled in Yurakucho, then headed to a stately venue in Azabu. The rain miraculously stopped just in time for the outdoor ceremony—as if the sky itself was blessing the couple.
And to my surprise, there was no dreaded bouquet toss.
For those unfamiliar: in Japan, unmarried women are often herded onto the stage, forced to scramble for a flying bouquet as though catching it would magically guarantee a wedding of their own. I had perfected the art of dodging those flowers throughout my twenties and thirties. This time, however, the ritual didn’t even exist. Bless this considerate couple—and bless the Reiwa era for quietly retiring that outdated humiliation.
The rest of the ceremony was just as impressive: no tedious speeches, no awkward amateur performances, just a balance of heartfelt moments, tears, and genuinely good food. Professional planners really do make all the difference.
The Blinding After-Party
After the reception, some old classmates decided to go for tea. For reasons still unclear, the chosen spot was the Ritz-Carlton.
(Thankfully my drink came in under ¥2,000, but watching a friend tell her child, “No, that’s too expensive—pick something else,” confirmed what we were all secretly thinking: Why the Ritz?)
Then one friend began describing how lucky he was to work with famous names we used to admire back in school, alongside his equally successful designer wife.
At that moment, I knew I had nothing to contribute to the conversation.
Maybe I Should Stop Comparing
I now work as an editor, juggling unreasonable client requests and relentless deadlines. Strangely enough, my ADHD tendencies make me thrive on multiple simultaneous tasks. Just recently, when a colleague broke down under pressure, I took over a major account at the last minute. Yes, I do this job while on antidepressants—but even so, I was the one still standing. If you know the client’s taste and understand the politics of their company, the payoff from big corporations can be generous.
In school, I believed perfection came from carefully polishing each assignment one by one. But my adult life looks different. Now it’s about efficiency, strategy, and leveraging my quirks to earn a steady income and live a quiet, stable life.
My friends’ lives shine brightly. Mine, perhaps, less so—but it’s not a bad life.
The bouquet never appeared, and no one was forced to run for it. Likewise, I’ve quietly stepped away from certain “competitions.”
Weddings, I realized, are not only about celebrating someone else’s happiness. They’re also about confronting where you stand in your own life.
Mine isn’t glamorous. I didn’t catch the bouquet—but my hands are full enough already, with work and the ordinary business of living.
So while my classmates traded stories of design-world glory, I excused myself with the classic line: “I’ve got another appointment tonight.”
And that, I suppose, is perfectly me.