More Public, More Personal
Why destination weddings—and the etiquette surrounding them—have changed
Is it rude to book a different hotel than the one the couple recommended?
Is requesting three outfit changes part of creating a memorable experience or asking too much?
Should couples carefully curate every moment of a destination wedding weekend, or leave guests to discover the destination on their own?
Maybe.
When you’re accepted to law school, one of the books everyone recommends—and often gives as a gift—is Getting to Maybe.
Its premise has stayed with me long after graduation.
Before law school, we’re often rewarded for finding the one right answer. Law school teaches something different. You’re given the same facts and law and asked to exercise judgment, appreciate nuance, and recognize that more than one reasonable answer may exist.
I’ve found myself thinking about that book throughout our travels because destination weddings simply involve more decisions than most weddings.
Over the past two weeks, Jason and I traveled through Lake Como, Portofino, and Saint-Tropez. Everywhere we went, we seemed to meet people who were attending destination weddings, had recently returned from one, or were planning one of their own. Conversations unfolded at beach clubs, during shuttle rides into town, and over long lakeside lunches.
I certainly wasn’t asking anyone about wedding budgets or financial arrangements, but those details often found their way into conversation. It’s difficult to talk about destination weddings without eventually talking about flights, hotels, vacation time, and the countless choices couples make about what they’ll host and what they’ll leave to their guests.
We met numerous guests who had attended weddings where an entire luxury property had been bought out and overnight accommodations were included, leaving guests responsible only for their flights. One groom was personally funding a multi-million-dollar wedding weekend in Tuscany, despite the fact that the bride’s family also could have contributed. Guests simply needed to purchase their flights and follow a style guide that included as many as three outfit changes each day.
We met a newly engaged couple from Australia who had recently returned from a destination wedding in Spain. They were genuinely excited to begin planning their own celebration, but there was also a palpable sense of wondering what was now expected after seeing so many extraordinary weddings—not only among people they knew, but also among celebrities and the countless weddings shared online.
An older couple traveling for another wedding shared how they were navigating the trip with the husband’s wheelchair. The venue presented plenty of physical challenges, but they had decided celebrating the couple mattered enough to make it work. Rather than dwelling on the obstacles, they approached each logistical hurdle with remarkable good humor.
Other guests talked about extending wedding weekends into longer European holidays, adding a few days in another city before returning home.
What struck me wasn’t the cost of any particular wedding.
It was how differently everyone experienced them.
Destination weddings have become both more public and more personal than ever before.
They’re more public because we don’t just experience the weddings we’re invited to. We experience the weddings our friends attend, the weddings of acquaintances, the weddings celebrities share, and the weddings complete strangers post online. Every welcome party, rehearsal dinner, farewell brunch, outfit change, and sunset dinner expands our sense of what a wedding weekend can look like.
They’re more personal because weddings themselves have become far less one-size-fits-all. A modest ceremony in your hometown and a four-day celebration in Tuscany simply ask different things of the couple and different things of their guests. The etiquette shouldn’t be identical either.
Destination weddings simply involve more decisions than most weddings.
More decisions for the couple.
More decisions for the guests.
More opportunities to anticipate someone’s needs.
More opportunities to misunderstand one another.
And ultimately, more opportunities to extend grace.
When you’re inviting loved ones to a place they may have never visited before, you’re not simply hosting a ceremony. You’re introducing them to a destination. That means thinking about transportation, accommodations, restaurants, local customs, and the countless questions that naturally arise when people are far from home. You don’t have to anticipate every need, but thoughtful guidance goes a long way.
Guests, too, have opportunities to be thoughtful.
Once you’ve accepted the invitation, embrace the celebration for what it is rather than wishing it were something else. Wear the sunset colors. Embrace the itinerary. Learn a few words of the local language. Meet someone new at dinner. Cheer during the speeches. Be a good sport.
The weekend isn’t about recreating the trip you would have planned for yourself.
It’s about helping two people begin their marriage surrounded by people who are genuinely happy to celebrate them.
Perhaps that’s the real lesson of Getting to Maybe.
The goal isn’t to force every situation into one universal rule. It’s to develop the judgment to recognize nuance, extend generosity, and choose the most gracious path for the circumstances in front of you.
The more weddings I experience, the more convinced I become that etiquette isn’t about always having the right answer.
It’s about exercising good judgment when there isn’t just one.
In Case You Missed It
I recently joined Gary Lipovetsky of the Creator Method to talk about etiquette for digital entrepreneurs and business owners. You can listen wherever you listen to podcasts or watch here.
You can get caught up on my Ask Alison column in Evie Magazine here.
Answering for a Friend
Q: My neighbor and I wave to each other almost every day, but we’ve never actually introduced ourselves. At this point, it feels awkward. Have I waited too long?
A: Not at all. In fact, acknowledging the awkwardness often makes the introduction easier. A simple, “I can’t believe we’ve lived next to each other this long and haven’t properly met. I’m Alison,” is warm, genuine, and likely a relief to the other person, too. Good manners aren’t about pretending you know someone’s name after missing a window of opportunity. It’s perfectly polite to create an opportunity to introduce yourself now.
If you have a question for a future Answering for a Friend segment or my Ask Alison column, please email info@elevateetiquette.com.
For more writing like this, my modern etiquette guide, Was it Something I Said?, is on sale wherever books are sold.
With love,
Alison