"I want our wedding to be the best one of all the ones we've been to," says groom-to-be Evan. His fiancee, Liz, raises her fist in agreement. It's taken a decade or two, but the competitive culture around getting married has finally reached its apex: a sort of Hunger Games, with contestants in training for years; armed with a mood board of Pinterest's best charcuterie platters, fairy lights in mason jars, and the wedding planners of the country's fanciest stately homes on speed dial.
This has never been so depressingly highlighted as in Netflix's newest reality series, Marriage or Mortgage, the premise of which is: sweet-but-confused American couples deciding whether to use their life savings on a huge party or a downpayment on a house. "How do we pick between the day that we deserve and we want, and the future," asks another would-be groom. Yeah, it's a real head-scratcher, isn't it? Good thing there are two opposing experts with skin in the game - a wedding planner and a twice-divorced estate agent - to help them make their choice.
Related: Why reality TV has been the tonic we need in lockdown 3.0 | Laura Martin
Before the pandemic, the industry of getting hitched had already spiralled out of control. The entire wedding economy (in which companies up their fees the second the W-word is mentioned) is worth an estimated £14.7bn a year in the UK according to an industry body, and the average wedding now costs £30,000; according to research by American Express, guests reportedly spend around £391 to attend a ceremony. Bolstered by celebrity nuptials and social media, this culture has also been fuelled by reality TV: Don't Tell the Bride, Four Weddings, Say Yes to the Dress, Celebrity Wedding Planner, Wedding Day Winners and, of course, Married at First Sight (MAFS). If the concept of MAFS wasn't enough to convince you of the ultimately disposable nature of a modern wedding, both on screen and in reality, then perhaps the divorce rate will: 2013 figures put it at 42% in England and Wales.
We have long been force-fed the idea that it's supposed to be the Most Important Day Of Your Life. But in a post-Covid world, in which so many of us are undoubtedly less financially stable, particularly younger people, surely any engaged couple contemplating a superextravagant wedding must be thinking: in this economy?
Marriage or Mortgage, which was mostly filmed before the pandemic, already feels like a relic from another era, which might account for the feeling of disbelief and detachment that arises when watching two lovebirds seduced into spending their savings on a ranch salad-dressing fountain, rather than a roof over their heads.
There's serious emotional warfare deployed by both the experts on the show to push the couples into choosing their vision for spending their $35,000, including messages from beyond the grave from beloved family members and revealing a fully kitted-out nursery room for a couple with fertility issues. But the tactics used by the wedding whisperer, Sarah Miller, are remarkable. There are two engaged pairs, one couple planning on adopting a child, one about to undergo IVF treatment, who should definitely be choosing the house over the huge wedding. But at a wedding dress fitting, Miller gives one bride-to-be a handkerchief with her dead dad's name embroidered on it, and makes the loaded statement to another: "You're making memories for your family and friends."
Marriage or Mortgage is a bit of a wake-up call for those who have been lulled into the unrealistic expectation that their wedding needs to rival Kim and Kanye's big day. The answer to the predicaments of many of the partners on the show is obvious: have a cheaper wedding and put most of the cash into a deposit for a house. If the experts really wanted to flex their prowess, they could collaborate to make both ambitions attainable on the same budget.
That smaller, DIY weddings aren't a consideration for the contestants is pretty odd - ironically, those who go ahead with the wedding later find it scaled back anyway due to Covid - as is the wider premise of the series. It serves as a kick in the teeth for many people, who, unlike the contestants, don't have the privileged advantage of anything at all in savings. It once again reminds us that what used to be perfectly achievable life goals, such as getting married or buying a house, have been transformed into privileges: it's predicted that one in three UK millennials will never own a home. MOM sells the grim either/or life decision that people have to make with their own money back to them as if it's a prize they're lucky to have won in a gameshow.
So forgive me if I don't raise a glass to a new reality series that sells the myth of the extravagant perfect day - especially when it comes at a cost of people's future security. Once the rose-tinted glasses are off, the only real love match happening here is between the banks and the debtors who've racked up costs on either a home or a wedding - that's one agreement that really is till death us do part.
. Laura Martin is a freelance journalist