On Christmas Eve I became engaged to my boyfriend of eight years. After nearly a decade spent together – during which time we have lived in three different cities, completed two degrees, worked countless jobs, and adopted a very strange dog – our engagement is entirely unsurprising. The reactions of our friends and families were predictably lovely, and my sisters’ ensuing tongue-in-cheek bickering over who would be a bridesmaid was equally expected.
What I wasn’t anticipating, however, was an unprecedented level of interest in my father. My father is, admittedly, pretty great. He has fantastic taste in music and introduced me to every television programme I have ever enjoyed. However this surprisingly frenzied fascination with my father has little to do with his top quality pop culture knowledge, and has been far more focused on whether or not he “approved” of the engagement.
“How did Josh ask your father permission?”
“Huh?”
“Did he go out to France to see him in person? Or just do it over the phone?”
“What?!”
“How long ago did he ask him?”
“Ask what?”
And so on, and so forth.
The first time this interaction happened, I wasn’t being deliberately obtuse. I genuinely had no idea what they were talking about. I had seen nervous-looking straight guys in tired romantic comedies and fading US sit-coms, fumbling as they asked their future fathers-in-law for permission to wed their daughters, but in 2018? Surely that wasn’t still ‘a thing’. I assumed like leg warmers and perms, this was something which died out in the 80s. Turns out it’s more akin to vinyl and double denim: surprisingly popular in the 21st Century.
I spoke with my father about the situation, confused by the sheer number of people who seemed affronted that Josh had ‘circumvented’ tradition in some way. As a father of three outspoken daughters he concluded that if anyone ever asked permission, they would be instantly denied on the grounds that they clearly didn’t know us properly. A feminist trap: if you treat us like property, he will use patriarchal customs to repel you.
It turns out Josh was equally unaware that the tradition was still so rife. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask my father, it really didn’t seem a decision he factored into. Besides, as Josh later commented, what about my mother?
Exactly, what about her? I have been blessed with an absolute tour-de-force of a mother. An ultramarathon runner in her 50s, working 80-hour weeks, while tackling a PhD on the side, she is somewhat of a powerhouse. I dread to think what the fallout would have been if Josh had genuinely approached my father, ignoring her in the process.
However my mother hasn’t evaded curious lines of questioning from well-wishers. The questions are just more… superficial?
“Do you know what her dress will be?”
“I’m sure she will have all sorts of demands about the big day – will her favourite flowers be featured?”
“What kind of hat will she wear?”
Verbatim. I’m not joking.
My parents’ respective roles have been divided instantly: my father makes my life decisions, while my mother is relegated to millinery.
I would like to clarify that all those who have asked these questions genuinely meant no harm. It seems to be far more a reflection of a part of society I have never seen before, which I don’t recognise. I think it is telling how shocked I was by people’s fascination with my parents. Perhaps I am simply a reflection of my own narrow perspective, out-of-touch with how the world genuinely is. I assumed the values Josh and I share were the norm, hoped even.
In a world where marriage is still defined by the majority of countries as solely between a man and a woman, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised to know most people still consider brides as something to be traded between men. Because that is effectively what it boils down to, just a step away from dowries and business deals.
I’m aware that this is the institution we have chosen to partake in, one laden with gendered expectations. We optimistically felt that we could choose to navigate the process on our own terms, holding a wedding that is modern and celebratory, rather than dictated by traditional values. We still plan to do just that.
So no, my fiancé didn’t ask my father permission. My father won’t be “giving me away”. My mother is unlikely to be wearing a hat of any sort. I paid for half of my engagement ring. And I’m keeping my last name, obviously.