My Biggest Misadventure
How a Solo Wedding to Impress an Ex Became a Lesson in Owning My Weirdness
They say bad ideas make the best stories, and frankly, I've built an entire personality around that principle. But even I have to admit that my boldest misadventure—a solo wedding photoshoot where I pretended to marry myself—set a new, unmatched benchmark of chaos in my lifetime.
You’re intrigued, I can tell. Let me set the scene.
“This Will Show Him”
Picture 23-year-old me: dramatic, heartbroken, and very, very caffeinated. I was fresh out of the messiest breakup of my life. He was my first serious boyfriend—a philosophy student who had deep opinions about whether chocolate croissants were superior to plain ones (spoiler: he was usually wrong). We had one of those relationships where you pick weird fights about Proust translations and think it’s “passionate” when really it’s just exhausting.
When we broke up, it wasn’t amicable. Weeks later, he showed up at my favorite café with someone else, both of them laughing like extras in a rom-com.
My world tilted. At that moment, a voice inside me whispered, “Juliette, you must rise. You must make him regret everything.”
Did I go to therapy? No. Did I journal and heal my soul? Absolutely not. Instead, I went online and spent $300 on a secondhand wedding dress. Why? Well, at some point in the caffeine-fueled haze of my heartbreak, I convinced myself that staging a fake wedding—just me, the dress, and a hired photographer—wasn’t weird or desperate. It was empowering. If he thought I was pathetic, he was about to see just how "thriving" I was. Beyoncé would have been proud.
The Big Day (Starring Me and Unbridled Chaos)
Now, before you ask, no, I didn’t plan a full-scale wedding. I didn’t hire guests, a caterer, or a DJ to play Céline Dion’s greatest hits. I simply dragged my sister into my plot (“You'll thank me when it’s hilarious someday,” I lied) and bribed a local photographer with free pastries to capture…the magic?
On the day of my Fake Solo Wedding™, I slipped into the dress. It was a vintage lace monstrosity with puffed sleeves big enough to smuggle baguettes under. It didn’t exactly scream “modern, confident woman,” but hey, tight budgets have limits. My sister looked at me, visibly nervous for my sanity, and whispered, “You’re positive this will work?”
“Yes,” I lied again.
The photoshoot began in Old Montreal, the cobblestoned haven for locals, tourists, and—unfortunately for me—that one ex who apparently owns a bicycle. My plan? Serves-him-right glamour. The reality? Something resembling a very lonely Disney princess.
People stopped and stared. Someone congratulated me (an odd mix of heartwarming and cringe). A child pointed at me and asked his mom if I was famous. My dress got caught in a sewer grate twice, and at one point, a rogue gust of wind turned my veil into a kite that landed on a hot dog cart.
Most surreal of all? While these mildly chaotic moments unfolded, my heartbreak didn’t magically dissolve like the end of a rom-com. Instead, I started to wonder: Juliette, is this really the high ground? Or have you created a niche scenario that even Carrie Bradshaw wouldn’t attempt?
Lessons From the Photo Flop
Spoiler alert: I never ran into my ex that day. Maybe that’s for the best because I doubt I radiated much “powerful goddess energy.” Instead, the photoshoot became less about him and more about me reflecting on questionable life choices in a wedding dress. Here’s what I (eventually) learned:
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Don’t Perform For Ghosts
Let me be brutally honest—we’ve all been there. At some point, you find yourself dressing, posting, styling, or overthinking for someone who has long exited your life. And it’s exhausting. The person who left is not sitting around piecing together clues about your Instagram aesthetic. They’ve moved on. You should too. -
Your Friends Are Better Than A Therapist…Until They Aren’t
My sister cheered me on during this scheme, partly because she loves me and partly because arguing with me isn’t worth the effort. It’s fine to let your friends pitch in on your emotional recovery, but there’s a fine line between “supportive” and “co-conspirator of questionable plans.” Learn the difference. -
Lean Into What Makes You Odd
If you’ve never walked around Old Montreal in a puffed-sleeve dress holding red roses, allow me to tell you—there’s something delightfully absurd about leaning all the way into your weirdness. This little stunt, bizarre as it was, reminded me that life’s more interesting when you stop trying to appear normal. Own the drama. Live your French-musical lifestyle. Just don’t expect your ex to notice.
But What About The Photos?
Ah, yes. The photos. They’re part of an unhinged time capsule buried deep in my hard drive, hidden even from myself. But you know what? Every now and then, I think about pulling one up as a reminder: not of heartbreak or embarrassing stunts, but that we sometimes need to look ridiculous to remind ourselves that we’re still human.
Would I recommend staging a fake solo wedding to cure heartbreak? Absolutely not. But if you find yourself in a dress that’s two sizes too big, with a rose petal stuck in your hair and zero clarity about life, consider this: maybe the lesson is already happening. Maybe the chaos is the clarity.
So go ahead—wear the puffed sleeves, make the bizarre plans, and laugh at your flops. They’re part of the story, after all.
The Takeaway
Listen. We’re all just trying to figure it out, one questionable decision at a time. Breakups make us irrational, emotional, and sometimes deeply creative in our schemes to feel better. But if I’ve learned anything from my misadventure, it’s this: when the dust settles, the only person you need to impress is yourself.
So here’s to embracing your chaos, taking the detours, and always—always—taking life a little less seriously. And maybe skip the $300 wedding dress next time. Trust me.
