In September, I celebrated my 29th birthday in a dimly lit dive bar in Manhattan, the kind with sticky floors and beer served without ceremony. I invited a small group of close friends, ordered a round and let the night unfold without expectations. No theme, no outfit planning and definitely no after-party. This was not my usual approach. I typically mark birthdays with intention and spectacle, but this year I wanted quiet. I wanted something that didn’t require logistics, spreadsheets or a credit card statement I’d be afraid to open.
The reason was simple: I was exhausted.
In the weeks leading up to my birthday, I had been preparing for my best friend’s wedding, and not in the vague, celebratory way people often mean when they say that. I mean bridal shower planning and gifting, booking flights for a destination bachelorette party, researching hotels, finding a dress that felt appropriate for multiple events, coordinating airport transportation, selecting a wedding gift, and signing a card with my name — and my male friend’s — neatly written inside.
I was happy to do all of it. I love her and wanted to show up fully for this moment in her life. Still, by the time my birthday arrived, I was mentally spent, emotionally wrung out and financially stretched thin in a way that felt quietly destabilizing.
The morning after my birthday, I landed at the destination wedding hotel after an early flight and a long shuttle ride, dragging my suitcase into the lobby with a group of friends and their boyfriends trailing behind me. I stepped up to the front desk to handle the check-in while everyone else waited, chatting casually, phones in hand. I confirmed reservations, clarified room details and mentally tracked who owed what, knowing I’d sort it out later. When I turned around, it struck me how familiar the scene felt — me at the center of the logistics, everyone else orbiting comfortably around it. I looked less like a guest and more like a cruise director with a credit card and an unspoken sense of responsibility.
That was the moment it clicked. If there’s one universal truth about wedding season, it’s this: Women are the ones holding it together. And we’re paying for it.
Not just in money, but in time, energy and emotional labor that often goes unnoticed. From booking the Airbnb to coordinating group chats, from finding the right outfit (and shoes, and accessories…) to ensuring a thoughtful gift appears on time, women tend to manage the entire guest experience. Men, by contrast, often arrive with a Venmo transfer and an Indochino suit that has already seen several weddings before.
And it’s rooted in a deeper association. Society has long linked women with weddings, even when they’re not the ones walking down the aisle. We are expected to care about the details, the aesthetics and the emotions, as if a wedding’s success depends on our foresight and generosity. Once you see it, it’s impossible to unsee.
According to recent Ally Bank survey data, Gen Z and millennials report spending an average of $225 attending friends’ weddings in the past six months, with millennials edging closer to $250. Nearly half say they’ve skipped major events altogether because the cost felt prohibitive. For women, those costs are compounded by the persistent pink tax, beauty expectations (like showcasing multiple never-before-seen-on-Instagram floor-length gowns) and a wage gap that has narrowed only marginally over the last two decades. Between airfare, accommodations, gifts, glam and using up limited PTO, the price of friendship has incrementally ballooned.
And to be clear, we’re just talking about American weddings here. In other cultures, the financial and emotional stakes can be even higher. For example, South Asian weddings often involve multiple pre-wedding ceremonies, like the mehndi (henna party), sangeet (music and dance night) and rehearsal dinners or family dinners in addition to the main wedding. Each event requires separate outfits, gifts, travel arrangements and social energy. Similarly, in some Latin American traditions, women are expected to attend religious ceremonies, family brunches and post-wedding celebrations, absorbing both emotional labor and additional expenses along the way.
American weddings have also changed. What was once a single afternoon now often stretches into a multi-day production, complete with destination ceremonies, bachelorette trips that resemble full vacations and a plethora of coordinated outfits. As the wedding industry has expanded, so too have the expectations placed on women, who are often the ones planning, executing and emotionally anchoring these events, even when they are not the ones getting married.
Of course, money is part of the story, but the more surprising element is how moralized the spending has become. “There’s a real internalized pressure to ‘show up well,’” says Jack Howard, head of money wellness at Ally Bank. “For many women, attending a wedding isn’t simply about being present. It’s about being polished, thoughtful and prepared,” which often translates into splurging on the right dress, beauty prep or a meaningful gift. These choices are emotional as much as they are financial, and they add up quickly.
Howard points out that this creates a form of invisible labor (and added expense) that men are not always socially conditioned or expected to take on. Beneath it lies a familiar money story: many women equate being dependable with being generous, even when that generosity costs more than they can comfortably afford.
Gen Z, in particular, feels this pressure acutely. Raised in a highly visual culture shaped by social media, many young women have grown up understanding that events are not just experienced but documented. Looking good in photos, curating outfits (but never repeating them) and presenting a cohesive version of oneself has become part of the social contract.
At the same time, Gen Z is more open about money stress than previous generations, talking candidly with friends and partners about budgets, boundaries and burnout. That honesty feels like a small but meaningful shift.
I loved my best friend’s wedding, and I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. I was honored to stand beside her during one of the most important moments of her life, and I understand why so many of us say yes to every invite, every expense, every ask. But I also left that weekend with a deeper awareness of how much women are expected to give in the name of love and celebration—not just financially, but logistically and emotionally, too.
We are taught to smooth the edges, fill the gaps and make the experience seamless for everyone else, often without realizing how deeply that expectation has embedded itself into our friendships and our sense of self.
Until we start naming that imbalance, it will keep resurfacing in familiar places — in the birthdays we scale back because the wedding calendar is full, in the PTO days sacrificed, in the group chats we manage and in the credit card charges we justify as “just part of it.” The cost isn’t always dramatic, but it is cumulative, and it has a way of showing up when we least expect it.
Sometimes, the most radical thing a woman can do during wedding season isn’t choosing the perfect dress or finding a way to make it all work. It’s pausing long enough to ask what’s actually sustainable. It’s deciding how much she’s willing to carry, what expectations she wants to challenge, and where she can allow things to be a little less perfect. Not every moment needs to be optimized. Not every cost needs to be absorbed. And not every celebration requires a woman behind the scenes making it seamless.
Everyone deserves the type of wedding they want, but you, as a supporter, are allowed to set boundaries. Letting some of it go doesn’t mean loving less. Sometimes, it’s the only way to keep showing up at all.
