The measure of any civilised society is its willingness to confront its darkest taboos. And, for any woman (or man) who has just been chosen to be a bridesmaid, the truth is now finally being addressed: it's a burden.
Last week The Evening Standard published an article detailing how much bridesmaids would make if they were paid. "It turns out, being a bridesmaid is equitable to having a second job", they wrote, adding that "Bridesmaids spend around 43 hours total catering to wedding-related duties – that's more hours than a typical work week." The cost of being a bridesmaid? Typically around A$529
The larger point here is that, far from being an exciting honour or signifier of a deep friendship, being chosen as a bridesmaid is basically work without pay.
Actress Anna Kendrick spoke about this hard truth last month on the Late Show With Seth Meyers. "I have potentially avoided making any close female friends because I don't want to be a bridesmaid."
"If you put me on an email chain and tell me I have to wear ballet pink nail polish I will kill you where you stand."
I respect her boundaries. In many female friendships, a wedding is a time of adjustment and acceptance. Adjustment to your friend's white-knuckle control issues and acceptance that you'd better go along with it or risk being labelled "jealous of true love."
I've been a bridesmaid four times and can happily report that on three of those occasions I could choose my own dress. I know I'm one of the lucky ones. Sure, I've had my makeup done, my lips painted a pale apricot while my eyebrows have been blackened to the colour of Sean Connery's. I've had my hair bundled into a style which might only be described as "Margaret Thatcher Goes to Prom" while sipping on champagne at 6 in the morning, because the makeup lady needs to do the entire wedding party before the photographer gets here at 9 to take photos of grown women, all dressed identically, inhaling bouquets of flowers like their lives depend on it. I've even had to send out "save the date" cards – for the Hen's Day.
But I've heard the horror stories. Haven't we all? About the friends who have had to squeeze themselves into $500 mini-dresses they've had to fork out their own cash for, with strict instructions not to wear a bra, lest the entire wedding be ruined.
I've heard of elaborate bridesmaid camps, where you have to pay a further $300 up front for a resort spa experience, which means you get to eat soggy rockmelon in a jacuzzi before a hearty round of "Pin the Penis on the Man" begins.
Or, the bride who thinks a salsa dancing class would be the perfect "fun and sensual" Hen's night. So you all have to endure a middle-aged, former swinger who says he can only teach if he dances behind you while holding your hips. Then, the day of the wedding, one of you is going to have to sneak into to the hotel room to scatter roses all over her bed and light candles that smell so pungently of vanilla, you can taste it in your throat, all so the bride can be "surprised" and "touched" by such a tightly-planned gesture she passive-aggressively demanded six months ago.
Most people can handle making a speech, booking a restaurant or helping with the dress on the day, it's when a woman wants bridal status from proposal to wedding vows that's exhausting.
The wedding might be 18 months away, but because you're a bridesmaid, you should join the bride in scouting out dresses now. And then come the words so many of us dread, "We'll make a day of it." Which means a 6am start with a prayer circle, where each bridesmaid has to say what she loves about the bride before you all take a hired bus out to a Bride Barn an hour away. Once there, you must gather again for "the sipping of mimosas" and it's here that some basic woman wants to know what the bride plans on doing for the wedding night. Cue: blushing and giggling about the groom while you smile vacantly because your soul has officially left your body.
We know how it happened, the growth of the bridal industry, the commercialisation of love, and let's not forget, the destructive lust that now governs our every major decision, otherwise known as mass consumerism. When the average wedding costs $40,000 it's little wonder small things become huge. But, dear brides, spare a thought for your closest friend before you ask her to accompany you on this journey into frothy narcissism. We know it's your day, but, for the love of love, it's still our life.