I’ve done a lot of things in the name of a good story: chased a puffin colony in the North Atlantic on a kayak (bad idea, by the way—they’re surprisingly quick for birds nicknamed “clowns of the sea”), eaten seaweed straight off a rock (not as bad as you’d think with some imagination and butter), and spent a full week cataloging tidepool creatures like I was their unqualified school principal. But none of those experiences prepared me for what I consider the most bizarre escapade of my writing life: pretending—yes, pretending—to be engaged for two weeks straight.

Before you ask, no, this wasn’t some premeditated rom-com experiment to snag Ryan Gosling-esque affection or unravel the mysteries of commitment. It was research. And by “research,” I mean a reckless proposition fueled by my editor’s words: “Wouldn’t it be neat if you wrote a piece about weddings from the inside?” There was a pause. Then: “Like attending a wedding expo as a bride?”

The problem? I was as single as a sand dollar on a tide-swept shore.

The Proposal (Not That Kind)

It started innocently enough: I’d write a feature exploring the wedding industry’s billion-dollar obsession with perfection. Bar Harbor, after all, is a hotspot for those “rustic but make it luxury” coastal weddings where every napkin bears a custom monogram and the lobsters practically wear bow ties. But I couldn’t exactly stroll into one of those glossy expos and say, “Hi, I’m here to spy on your floral arrangements.”

Enter my best friend, Katie, who is both the best and worst person to ask for help when the idea involves a touch of lunacy. “You can’t go alone,” she declared while poking at a bowl of clam chowder from my mom’s kitchen. “You need a fiancé. Someone tall. Rugged. Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice vibes. Except, you know, not British.”

Before long, we’d roped in Jamie, another Bar Harbor local who fits neatly into “outdoorsy but showered” territory—a part-time carpenter, part-time paddleboard guide, and all-around good sport. The plan was simple: we’d pose as an engaged couple, attend a few expos in Portland, and I’d write about the absurdity of the whole affair. Except nothing about what came next was simple.

"Bride Brain" Is a Real Thing

On day one of our undercover operation, I realized something eerily fascinating: entering wedding expos as a “bride” changes you. It’s like stepping into another dimension, one where colors have names like “seafoam mist” or “champagne blush,” and your priorities shift to things you’ve never considered—like the thread count of aisle runners. By the third booth, I found myself locked in a heated debate with Jamie over whether we were a “peony couple” or “classic roses.” (For the record, we were neither—Jamie admitted to thinking peonies were a kind of bird until that morning.)

“Shouldn’t we, uh, talk about our budget or something?” Jamie whispered as we passed a table stacked high with glossy cake samples. A “real” couple might’ve been discussing centerpieces; meanwhile, I was spending too much mental energy deciding which fondant cube deserved a second taste.

The vendors, of course, took us completely seriously. Why wouldn’t they? I knew how to flash the occasional wistful smile at Jamie, the type that suggests I was mentally choosing baby names while picking out linen swatches. It helped that Jamie has one of those effortlessly charming faces that screams “trustworthy partner who also knows how to hang drywall.”

But the real shocker? Bride brain isn’t just contagious, it’s adorable. By day two, I was genuinely treating vendors to lines like, “We’re just so excited to finally celebrate our love,” while Jamie nodded solemnly, somehow keeping a straight face. Was it lying? Maybe. Was it disturbingly fun? Absolutely.

The Weirdest Part Wasn’t the Fake Couple Act

No, the strangest part of the whole saga wasn’t pretending to be someone’s future wife. It was realizing how easy it was to get lost in this fantasy—one where love feels like a Pinterest board waiting to happen. Every “ooh” over floral arches or tiny jars of local honey doubled as little reminders: this experience—a beautiful day, a champagne toast, a dance beneath twinkling lights—is what so many people pour their hearts (and wallets) into. It’s not about the perfect photo or the artisanal charcuterie table. It’s about connection, even if it’s disguised in the glittering chaos of mason jar lanterns.

Still, the most profound takeaway came courtesy of a sweet vendor we met on our last day—a retired teacher named Maggie who now bakes miniature pies for receptions. “The thing about love,” she said while handing us a lavender-blueberry pie (delicious, by the way), “is that it’s messy, not perfect. People forget that.”

Her words stayed with me as we wrapped up our little charade. Maybe the weirdest thing about playing bride for two weeks was how much it taught me about real relationships. The expos, for all their theatricality, revealed something universal: the heart of love isn’t in rose-gold invitations. It’s in shared stories, goofy compromises, and understanding that even the best-laid plans will probably involve a melted cake or a crooked boutonniere.

Lessons in Love (Fake or Otherwise)

Reflecting on our whirlwind “engagement,” a few key takeaways stand out:

  • Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff (or the Peonies): Whether it’s wedding planning or your everyday relationship, aim to focus on what genuinely matters. The rest is just window dressing.

  • Laugh Through the Weirdness: True connection thrives in moments of chaos—whether that’s debating over table settings or realizing you hate ballroom dancing. Humor makes it all worthwhile.

  • Real Relationships Aren’t Airbrushed: Maggie’s words linger still: love is messy by nature, just like life. Embracing imperfection is a strength.

Happily Ever After?

Jamie and I parted ways after the expos, laughing as we answered questions like, “So when’s the wedding?” My editor got her story (you’re reading it!), and I got a fresh perspective on the vulnerability and joy that comes with celebrating connection, however that may look.

Sometimes, love is a perfectly staged epic event, and sometimes it’s two people fake-arguing over appetizers with a pie lady looking on. And honestly? Both seem equally beautiful to me.