Planning a Wedding in Your 40s: Fewer F*cks, More Snacks, Wine & Strategic Spanx

Rich and I are getting married this year.

Less than three months to go.

And everywhere I turn, people keep asking me - with that slightly pained, flashback-in-the-eyes expression - “How’s the planning going?”

It’s the knowing look of someone mentally revisiting their own wedding decades ago. The spreadsheets. The stress. The tears over table linen.

There’s almost an expectation that I should sigh heavily before answering.

But here’s the strange part.

I’m not stressed.

At all.

In fact… I’ve genuinely loved planning it.

Which made me stop and wonder - why?

Why, this time, does it feel fun instead of frantic?

Why does it feel light instead of loaded?

And the more I think about it, the more I realise…

Aside from the fact that bringing kids into this world teaches you what stress is really all about,

It might have something to do with fewer f*cks, more snacks, wine - and strategic Spanx.

Planning a wedding in your 20s is about the dream.

Planning a wedding in your 40s is about logistics, lower back support, strategic lighting, and whether the bar can open at 2pm.

The first time round, I cared - or at least I desperately wanted to care - about the finer details.

Chair covers. Napkin folds. Matching shades of blush that apparently differed in “tone.”

Sourcing a snow machine for that Christmas wedding - because when do we ever have snow in the UK for it to look realistic anyway?!!

I had aspirations of being that glowing bride who spent evenings comparing peony varieties and tasting cake samples while gazing lovingly at a spreadsheet.

Instead?

Six weeks before my wedding, I launched a brand new business.

Not a “little side project”. A full-blown, staff-employed, press-covered, clients-beating-down-the-door business.

There were launch parties. There was local press. There were multiple staff. There was payroll. There were clients metaphorically hammering on the door.

Hen do excitement? Mildly overshadowed by HR realities. Wedding menu tastings? Slotted between consultations and supplier negotiations.

My poor first husband would gently text:

“Are you home tonight? Can we talk about the seating plan?”

And I’d reply:

“Yes, about midnight. But I need to sort tomorrow’s staff rota and chase three unpaid invoices first.”

Nothing says bridal bliss like discussing table arrangements while simultaneously worrying about payroll.

Romantic.

I wasn’t uninterested. I was just… running an empire.

Looking back, it’s almost comical. I wanted to be immersed in wedding magic. Instead, I was a CEO who happened to be getting married on the side.

Fast Forward: Version 2.0

This time around?

There’s no empire launch. No press cameras. No payroll emergencies.

Just slightly creaky knees, a blended family WhatsApp group, and a deep desire for comfortable shoes, wondering what times acceptable to bring out the flip flops!

I no longer care about the bridesmaids’ dress colour being seamlessly incorporated across the entire “theme.”

There is no theme.

There is colour.

Plural.

I don’t care if the photos aren’t a perfectly curated gradient of coordinated tones.

I don’t care that somewhere, a wedding stylist is whispering, “Blue and green should never be seen.”

Because here’s what’s actually happening:

The bridesmaids chose varying shades of green.

Rich has paid a small fortune for the ultimate blue suit.

And apparently, we are boldly ignoring the rules of the colour wheel.

Do I mind?

Not even slightly.

In fact, I quite like it.

It feels real.

It feels like a collection of independent adults choosing what they feel good in - rather than being forced into a Pinterest-approved palette.

If you’re sitting down and there’s wine, we’re good.

Nobody remembers the centrepieces - so there will be none.

They remember:

• The food

• The speeches

• Who cried

• Who danced like they were 23 again

• And whether it felt like a proper celebration

And at this age?

We’re here for the party.

Not the dragged-away, hours-on-end, staged photo marathon where you’re positioned like a department store mannequin while everyone else is at the bar.

I do not need 47 variations of “lean gently into each other while looking thoughtfully at a tree.”

I do not need to be suspended mid-laugh on command.

I need:

A quick handful of gorgeous, slightly chaotic, joy-filled photos.

Then release me back to my guests.

Because at this stage, I know what matters.

It’s the hugs. The dance floor. The kids running wild. The slightly-too-loud laughter.

I don’t want to miss my own wedding because I’m off in a field trying to achieve “candid but curated.”

We’re here for the celebration.

Snap a few beautiful ones.

Then someone hand me a glass and point me toward the music.

The Seating Plan (Or: Please Just Behave)

In your 20s, you obsess over who sits where.

In your 40s?

Honestly, we don’t really give a shit.

You are all grown adults.

If you can’t sit at a table for three hours without falling out, that’s a you problem.

We are not hosting a diplomatic summit.

We are hosting a knees-up.

The vibe is:

Be civil. Eat the food. Drink the wine. Dance like a knob.

We’re not trying to be “correct.”

We’re aiming for peace, fun, and a very full dance floor.

If there’s tension in the room, I trust everyone to pack it neatly into a handbag and launch it off the nearest cliff.

The Body Betrayal (Now Featuring Swollen Ankles & Failing Eyesight)

Let’s discuss the true evolution.

Somewhere between Wedding One and Wedding Two:

• My feet developed a strong aversion to heels (I once wore 4 inches, 12 hours a day, EVERY day for crying out loud)

• My ankles now swell in solidarity with humidity

• I am, quite frankly, blind as a bat

• And my body refuses to tolerate nonsense - or pointed shoes

  
  

The first time round, I didn’t consider orthopaedic strategy.

This time?

We are factoring in:

• Arch support

• Anti-blister protocol

• Emergency flats

• Strategic Spanx (because we’re not reckless)

  
  

But the real crisis?

My eyesight.

In my 20s, I could read vows written in 8pt font by candlelight.

Now?

If it’s not size 16, in Bold, with generous spacing, I’m squinting like I’m deciphering ancient scripture.

Which raises the pressing question:

How exactly am I supposed to read my vows without my glasses?

Because while I have no major aversion to my glasses - they are part of me - I’m not entirely sure “fumbling for readers mid-emotion” is the bridal aesthetic I had in mind.

The alternative?

Contact lenses.

But honestly, the thought of voluntarily touching my own eyeball makes me slightly nauseous.

So now I’m contemplating:

• Giant-print vows

• Discreetly perched glasses

• Or holding the paper so far away I look like I’m directing air traffic

This is the glamorous reality of a 40s bride.

It’s less “ethereal woodland nymph” and more “Has anyone seen my readers?”

And let’s not forget:

• The back fat that refuses negotiation

• The jowls politely knocking at the door

• The teeth not quite as luminous as pre-red wine addiction

The first time round, I didn’t worry about angles.

Now I am deeply invested in lighting.

You don’t hate photos at this age.

You hate unflattering ones.

The Background Murmurs

And let’s not pretend there aren’t whispers.

You can almost hear them floating over the canapé trays:

“Let’s see if this one lasts.” “Second time lucky.” “He's brave after the last one, isn’t he?”. "Is she mental? Has she not learnt by now?"

There’s always someone mentally placing bets.

And then there’s the best man.

In your 20s, you worry he’ll mention an inappropriate stag do story.

In your 40s, screw the stag do, there wasn't one, you worry now he’ll open with:

“Well… after the first marriage…”

Sir.

Tread carefully.

At this stage, we’re not embarrassed about wild nights.

We’re concerned about narrative framing.

We’re concerned about the best man accidentally turning into a podcast episode titled “What Really Happened the First Time.”

Because now?

There are children in the room.

Our three children.

Two of which, we have all bar been escorted to the psychiatric wing ourselves trying to shield from one very challenging parents… let’s call it creative behaviour.

And by creative, I mean:

• Drama so relentless it should come with interval refreshments.

• Parental alienation attempts that would make a Netflix documentary blush.

• endless attempts for court ordered possession of their passports when all other tactics failed, to try to stop them even getting to the wedding.

• Last-minute demands, accusations, and plot twists that feel like EastEnders on speed.

Honestly, if resilience burned calories, we’d be Olympic athletes by now.

We’ve navigated more emotional landmines than a bomb disposal unit.

All so these kids could grow up as happy and settled as possible. so they could have stability. All so they could walk into this wedding day feeling safe, excited and free from adult madness.

So when someone stands up with a microphone, the stakes feel slightly different.

It’s no longer:

“Please don’t mention the Ibiza incident.”

It’s more:

“Please don’t unpack emotional trauma between courses.”

We’re not worried about embarrassment.

We’re protective of peace.

We’ve come too far to let someone casually crack open history like a can of stella on a lads night out!!

What’s Actually Different

The first wedding is often about potential.

The later one is about choice.

Eyes-wide-open choice. Informed choice. Conscious choice.

You know what relationships require now.

You know what you won’t tolerate.

You know the difference between butterflies and anxiety.

You’re not naïve.

You’re intentional.

And maybe that’s why there are fewer f*cks given about napkin folds.

Because the important stuff is clearer.

Also… The Glow Is Earned

The first time round, I was trying to prove I could do everything.

Run a business. Host launch parties. Be the perfect bride. Impress everyone.

This time, I just want:

Snacks. Wine. A full dance floor. Children laughing. Trainers/flip flops by 8pm.

If there’s visible back fat in one photo? Delete button.

If my ankles resemble soft dinner rolls by sunset? We pivot.

If I need size 18 font vows and discreet glasses?

So be it.

Because this wedding isn’t about being whiter-than-white.

It’s about choosing someone when you fully understand what choosing means.

It’s about comfort, laughter, blended chaos, and a very good playlist.

And honestly?

I’d take fewer f*cks, more snacks, wine, and strategic Spanx over perfection any day.