Look, I used to be one of those people who rolled their eyes at elaborate weddings. You know the type – muttering about “waste of money” and “just get married at city hall.” That was me. Until last month when I attended my cousin Sarah’s wedding at Potters Reception Melbourne.
Sometimes you need to be proven wrong. And boy, was I proven wrong that Saturday afternoon in Warrandyte. The thing is, I’d forgotten what weddings are really about. Its not the flowers or the fancy food (though both were incredible). Its about witnessing two people make promises in front of everyone who matters to them.
Sarah had been planning this day for almost two years. COVID threw a wrench in the original plans, then venue issues, then family drama – you name it. But watching her walk down that garden path, surrounded by native Australian plants and the sound of waterfalls… I finally got it.
The setting matters because it becomes part of the memory. Twenty years from now, when Sarah and Tom are arguing about whose turn it is to take out the bins, they’ll remember standing under that wisteria-covered archway. They’ll remember their grandparents crying during the vows. They’ll remember their three-year-old nephew doing an impromptu breakdance during the reception.
What struck me most was how the venue itself seemed designed to create these moments. Indoor and outdoor spaces that flowed together. Natural light hitting just right during golden hour. Gardens that gave guests places to wander and chat between the ceremony and dinner. Even skeptical me had to admit – this wasn’t just a wedding factory churning out cookie-cutter events.
The food deserves its own paragraph. I’m talking proper restaurant quality stuff, not the usual wedding chicken-or-fish situation. Sarah went with the shared plates option, which meant the tables actually talked to each other instead of just focusing on their own meals. Smart move.
But heres what really got me: watching Sarah’s dad give his speech. This tough-as-nails construction worker who I’d never seen show emotion beyond frustration at the football. He broke down completely talking about his little girl. And in that beautiful space, surrounded by family from three different continents who’d made the journey, it felt… right.
I left that wedding with a different perspective. Sure, you can get married anywhere. A backyard, a courthouse, a beach. All valid choices. But there’s something to be said for choosing a place that understands the weight of the moment. A place that’s hosted hundreds of “I dos” and knows how to handle everything from nervous brides to drunk uncles to dietary restrictions I can’t even pronounce.
Sarah and Tom are in Bali now for their honeymoon. But before they left, Sarah told me something that stuck. She said planning the wedding – all the stress and decisions and family negotiations – actually prepared them for marriage. Learning to compromise, to prioritize what really matters, to handle pressure together. The venue and their coordinator guided them through it all, which took a huge load off their shoulders.
So yeah, I’m a convert. Not saying everyone needs a big wedding. But I understand now why some people choose to go all out. Its not about showing off or following tradition blindly. Its about creating a moment that matches the magnitude of the promise you’re making.
Plus, that photo booth was pretty fun after a few drinks. Not that I’ll admit to wearing the feather boa in those pictures.
Would I have a big wedding myself? Ask me again when I find someone willing to put up with my terrible dance moves and obsession with true crime podcasts. But at least now I know where I’d look first. Sometimes the cynics among us need a good wedding to remind us that love and celebration aren’t things to be embarrassed about.
They’re what make all the everyday struggles worth it.
