It’s hard to pinpoint the moment something shifts from unfashionable to taboo, but it feels as if we’re there. With a “hot divorcee summer” on the horizon, more than half of single American women believing they’re happier than their spliced sisters, and nearly 70% of college-educated singles pessimistic about finding the right partner, what was once vanilla has become a baked alaska hot take. Even having a boyfriend has been deemed embarrassing, so steel yourselves: this is controversial. I write, dear reader, in praise of marriage.
Wait! Please! Put down your torches and pitchforks for a moment, and hear me out. I’m not advocating for any kind of tradwife nonsense, or unobtainable romcom fantasy. I’m talking normal, ordinary, messy, cosy, frustrating marriage.
If you’ve never been tempted or are certain you are not interested – as you were. This isn’t for you. But if you like the idea but are too ashamed to admit it, listen up.
There is no denying that this rudimentary union is now desperately uncool, the opposite of aspirational, the underdog of relationship statuses. However, everything comes back into style eventually, so those of us already wifed or husbanded up just need to hang in there and who knows, 2097 may well be a “hot old ball and chain summer”. Anyway, only sheep blindly follow trends rather than choosing what actually suits them.
Marriage suits me. Full disclosure: my catastrophic dating history could be a relevant factor in finding it a relief. Jess and Marie’s promise to each other in When Harry Met Sally (“You will never have to be out there again”) should be inserted into the wedding vows – it’s far more compelling than the whole for richer, for poorer shebang.
To be clear, I’m not championing random marriage to whoever is standing closest to you as you read this. It’s probably best to be picky, and do it with someone you like and fancy, someone who makes you laugh, is kind, and has similar morals and goals. Somebody you can be completely yourself around, and who – this is fairly crucial – also wants to marry you. Don’t worry if they annoy you a bit, because even if you manage to locate a unicorn, they will. My husband breathes so loudly you can probably hear him from wherever you’re sitting, and although it obviously wouldn’t be ideal if he stopped altogether, I do also sort of want him to stop altogether.
The haters say marriage is “just a piece of paper”, which is fundamentally true, but that makes it sound like some pen scrawled on the back of a cigarette packet, rather than an official certificate with the word “solemnised” on it and a grave-looking stamp. It does remind you that what has happened is serious (or it would, if you had any clue where you’d put it).
What it signifies, really, is the amount of hassle it would be to split up. And yes, this also applies if you’re parents, co-homeowners etc, but somehow it’s different. And so, even though you might be forced to endure the sound of someone breathing IN and OUT and IN and OUT as the unbearable backing track to your entire existence on this planet, you stick it out.
Marriage necessitates working through issues, teaches you patience, gumption, and to be more tolerant, which are useful qualities to have generally. And then life throws some horrible curveballs at you, and you face them together. You’re still your own, separate person, an individual, rather than two halves completed by the other – vom – but you are part of a team. The comfort that comes from knowing somebody has your back, is in your corner, and that you won’t face the toughest stuff alone, cannot be overestimated. I only have to keep my shit together 50% of the time max, and the rest I can hand over and he’ll pick up the slack. I can depend on him, always.
It may not be fashionable, it may not be cool, but who cares? This is what I would wish for everyone I care about. A real marriage, capable of making you wonder in both opposing senses, what you’ve done to deserve it.
Polly Hudson is a freelance writer
