Article / Archive
Wednesday morning, I woke up and the first thought that sprung to mind was: “I’m supposed to try on wedding dresses today, but I don’t know if I can legally get married next year.” I felt a tightness in my chest and the start of tears as I grappled with what my life as a gay, engaged woman would look like in Trump’s America.
I’ve always been a pragmatic optimist—realistic enough to do the work, yet always holding the hope that it could make a difference. I spent the weekend before the election canvassing in Pennsylvania and making calls to Wisconsin, where I felt uplifted by positive pro-Harris conversations I had with swing state voters. Women were coming out in droves, it seemed, saying they voted for her, and some lifelong Republicans were going to cross party lines. While I absolutely encountered a few fiery, flag-bearing MAGA supporters circling our canvassing headquarters in pickup trucks, they just seemed to want to make their presence appear bigger than it really was.
Today, the one thing that scares me most is I no longer feel like I can envision my future. Will a stacked Supreme Court overturn my right to marry? Would I ever be allowed to have children with my fiancée via IUI or IVF? Will I even be allowed to adopt a child? If we do have a child, would we both be able to be their legal parents? If we cross state lines, would our marriage not be recognized? Would I not be able to visit my future wife in the hospital if she gets hurt or sick? Will my family be recognized as a family by my country?
My fiancé Liv and I had planned our wedding for November 2025 in our Brooklyn neighborhood. As a weddings writer and editor with years of experience covering celebrations, it has been so overwhelmingly exciting to finally work on planning my own celebration. But when I woke up on Wednesday, the first thing I did was to turn to Liv and tell her that we should get legally married at City Hall in the next few months. I expected her to protest and say I was overreacting, but she agreed it was not a bad idea. Our text group chat with our parents agreed, too. We didn’t know the future, but we thought that if we had a legal marriage now, it would be harder to void it later. And, if we ever needed to move to another country, the immigration process together might be easier. I was not alone in this idea. After a quick DM check-in with another queer, engaged friend in the wedding industry Jove Meyer, he said he had the exact same conversation that morning with his fiancé. Clearly, the ticking clock was loud enough for us all to hear.
Both Liv and I had planned to try on wedding dresses today. She was going with her mom and aunt to a trunk show, and I was going to try a Monique Lhuillier gown I loved at Bridal Fashion Week. Liv wanted to cancel her appointment, but I reassured her that she should go and not miss the chance to try on a dress she has loved for months. Plus, it would be helpful to see her family on this hard day.
I got brunch (and a much-needed mimosa) with two friends, then headed uptown. The happy demeanors of women shopping around me felt strange and jarring, but the bridal stylist I would be working with, Carson Overby, set me at ease. As a fellow gay, engaged person, he shared his fears and a very real discussion he also had with his fiancé—who is currently living in Texas—about getting married at City Hall in a few weeks. He was scared that he wouldn’t have the right to visit him in the hospital if he got hurt or sick in such a red state. It helped to talk through our excitement around our big wedding plans—and strategize how we might want to protect ourselves, too.
When I got home that evening, Liv and I chatted with our moms on the phone and put plans into motion to have a small holiday wedding with just our families in New York. Mine would fly out from California and we could have our first Christmas and Hanukkah together as a new, larger family. However, we do still intend to have our proper celebration next November. While we may be acting out of fear, that fear is valid. With the possibility of Obergefell v. Hodges getting overturned by a stacked Supreme Court, our right to marry is under threat. We are just thankful that our families are accepting and understand the gravity of the political climate for the queer community. I hope that others not only support the queer friends and family in their life as they make difficult decisions over the next few months, but continue to fight to protect our rights from being stripped away.
Wednesday morning, I woke up and the first thought that sprung to mind was: “I’m supposed to try on wedding dresses today, but I don’t know if I can legally get married next year.” I felt a tightness in my chest and the start of tears as I grappled with what my life as a gay, engaged woman would look like in Trump’s America.
I’ve always been a pragmatic optimist—realistic enough to do the work, yet always holding the hope that it could make a difference. I spent the weekend before the election canvassing in Pennsylvania and making calls to Wisconsin, where I felt uplifted by positive pro-Harris conversations I had with swing state voters. Women were coming out in droves, it seemed, saying they voted for her, and some lifelong Republicans were going to cross party lines. While I absolutely encountered a few fiery, flag-bearing MAGA supporters circling our canvassing headquarters in pickup trucks, they just seemed to want to make their presence appear bigger than it really was.
Today, the one thing that scares me most is I no longer feel like I can envision my future. Will a stacked Supreme Court overturn my right to marry? Would I ever be allowed to have children with my fiancée via IUI or IVF? Will I even be allowed to adopt a child? If we do have a child, would we both be able to be their legal parents? If we cross state lines, would our marriage not be recognized? Would I not be able to visit my future wife in the hospital if she gets hurt or sick? Will my family be recognized as a family by my country?
My fiancé Liv and I had planned our wedding for November 2025 in our Brooklyn neighborhood. As a weddings writer and editor with years of experience covering celebrations, it has been so overwhelmingly exciting to finally work on planning my own celebration. But when I woke up on Wednesday, the first thing I did was to turn to Liv and tell her that we should get legally married at City Hall in the next few months. I expected her to protest and say I was overreacting, but she agreed it was not a bad idea. Our text group chat with our parents agreed, too. We didn’t know the future, but we thought that if we had a legal marriage now, it would be harder to void it later. And, if we ever needed to move to another country, the immigration process together might be easier. I was not alone in this idea. After a quick DM check-in with another queer, engaged friend in the wedding industry Jove Meyer, he said he had the exact same conversation that morning with his fiancé. Clearly, the ticking clock was loud enough for us all to hear.
Both Liv and I had planned to try on wedding dresses today. She was going with her mom and aunt to a trunk show, and I was going to try a Monique Lhuillier gown I loved at Bridal Fashion Week. Liv wanted to cancel her appointment, but I reassured her that she should go and not miss the chance to try on a dress she has loved for months. Plus, it would be helpful to see her family on this hard day.
I got brunch (and a much-needed mimosa) with two friends, then headed uptown. The happy demeanors of women shopping around me felt strange and jarring, but the bridal stylist I would be working with, Carson Overby, set me at ease. As a fellow gay, engaged person, he shared his fears and a very real discussion he also had with his fiancé—who is currently living in Texas—about getting married at City Hall in a few weeks. He was scared that he wouldn’t have the right to visit him in the hospital if he got hurt or sick in such a red state. It helped to talk through our excitement around our big wedding plans—and strategize how we might want to protect ourselves, too.
When I got home that evening, Liv and I chatted with our moms on the phone and put plans into motion to have a small holiday wedding with just our families in New York. Mine would fly out from California and we could have our first Christmas and Hanukkah together as a new, larger family. However, we do still intend to have our proper celebration next November. While we may be acting out of fear, that fear is valid. With the possibility of Obergefell v. Hodges getting overturned by a stacked Supreme Court, our right to marry is under threat. We are just thankful that our families are accepting and understand the gravity of the political climate for the queer community. I hope that others not only support the queer friends and family in their life as they make difficult decisions over the next few months, but continue to fight to protect our rights from being stripped away.
"You have to go back."
