I once got caught in a tree on a second date. Not like a cute, impromptu climbing situation (if that's even a thing). No, this was a full-blown, legs-dangling, shirt-snags-on-bark, someone-call-search-and-rescue kind of ordeal. And it all happened because I wanted to impress a girl I thought might be "outdoorsy enough" to appreciate a spontaneous climb. Spoiler: She wasn’t. But that story is for another day. The weirdest thing I’ve ever done for a story? Hands down, posing as a married couple with someone I’d just met for a deep dive on the mysteries of wedding expos.

Before you laugh—and you will—let me just say that I loved (and still love) writing about relationships. The way people connect and commit fascinates me. So when we had a pitch meeting at this very publication titled "Miles, why don’t you go explore the world of wedding expos? Oh wait, you’ll need a ‘spouse,’” I said yes, because journalistic integrity…right? I didn’t think it would be easy. But I wasn’t prepared to almost break character at a cake-tasting station or get into an existential discussion about matching monogrammed towels with a stranger.

It was an experience that flipped my perspective on love, partnership, and how sometimes a ring on your finger comes with a dance you weren’t quite rehearsed for. So grab your notebook (or glass of wine), because we’re diving into the bizarre, hilarious journey of how I became a faux husband for a solid eight hours—and what it taught me about all of us trying our best to juggle love, expectations, and a little bit of chaos.

My Fake Wife, Nancy

To clarify: Nancy wasn’t her real name. I was paired with a freelance photographer we’ll call "Nancy" for the purposes of journalistic anonymity (and maybe just because writing about ‘Nancy’ feels funnier). She arrived armed with a DSLR around her neck, impeccable eyeliner, and an attitude that could only be described as “I never asked for this…but it’s happening.”

“We’re just married enough to wander around here without being suspicious.” She gave me a once-over like she was figuring out where I rated on the Trustability Scale.

I wanted to ask about her actual relationship status but figured that was a weird way to establish our faux-spouse dynamic. Instead, I did what any self-respecting person-turned-wannabe-groom would do: I leaned into the role, shoving my left hand forward to show her the $12 ring I’d gotten from a craft store 20 minutes earlier. “I, uh, improvised.”

She smirked. “We’ll work on that.”

The World of Wedding Expos Is…A Lot

If you’ve never been to a wedding expo, let me set the stage. Imagine Costco giving you a free sample of everything—from DJs who juggle while looping “Uptown Funk” to florists with portfolios so glossy you wonder why their arrangements aren’t in the Louvre. Now add brides clutching color-coded binders, grooms making beelines for anything labeled “complimentary whiskey,” and enough fabric swatches to leave you questioning if there’s really a difference between "Dusty Rose" and "Blushing Peach."

We had barely made it through the front door when Nancy grabbed my arm (again, for credibility—I think). A vendor hawking photo booths spotted us. “Newlyweds-to-be?” he asked, practically brandishing a Polaroid like it was a weapon.

“Engaged for six months,” Nancy announced smoothly.

I nodded along, a deer caught in the headlights of her competent performance. “Yep. Met hiking in Joshua Tree.” Don’t ask me why I said Joshua Tree. Maybe the ghost of my environmental-policy dad was channeling me.

Nancy shot me a look: could we not have met somewhere slightly less…boho?

Cake Wars: Married Edition

The taste-testing aisle was straight out of Willy Wonka’s sugar-filled dreams, and I figured this would be the easiest part of the day. All we had to do was smile, nod, and discreetly spit anything horrifyingly bad into napkins.

“Do you have a theme yet?” one baker asked us while handing over a six-layer chocolate-and-lavender combo (yes, it pushed lavender way past its limits).

I glanced at Nancy, who shrugged. “Rustic modern?” I said, guessing wildly at what Pinterest might recommend if Pinterest became self-aware.

“That’s…not a thing,” she muttered under her breath. Then she pasted on the most dazzling "I’m-obviously-not-laughing-at-you" grin I’ve ever seen.

By the time another baker chirped, “What’s your hashtag? You know, for Instagram?” I realized we’d hit a nerve. We didn’t have a hashtag. We didn’t have a wedding date. Heck, we didn’t even have each other’s actual full backstories straight. And you know what? The pressure to perform started to feel real—fake ring and all.

What Monogrammed Towels Will Teach You About Life

In case you didn’t know, matching monogrammed towels aren’t just a thing. They are, apparently, a statement about the strength and creativity of your union. Or so a towel vendor informed us while Nancy and I stared blankly at sample script fonts.

Nancy leaned in, whispering, “Do you actually think married couples need this stuff?”

“Do you actually think married couples disagree about stuff like TOWELS?” I whispered back.

And friends, that moment was an epiphany. Here we were, entirely fake spouses, realizing the weight of utterly inconsequential decisions people in real relationships have to wrestle with. You want the floral print on bedsheets? Hope your partner doesn’t secretly hate flowers. You want matching mugs? Better hope there won’t be a silent standoff over rustic versus modern ceramic.

The Bigger Picture (and Why I Almost Cried Over One of Those Pinterest-Perfect Wedding Slideshows)

Toward the end of the expo, we watched a presentation of wedding photography reels. It was full of golden-hour fields, big “we’re married!” kisses, and teary-eyed parents looking adoringly at their offspring. Nancy, as always, commented dryly: "It’s like Hallmark on steroids.”

But by then, something had shifted for me. It wasn’t really about dresses or hashtags or elaborate cake tiers. It was about the moments people were willing to commit to—their “yes, we’re doing this together” moments.

I have no idea if I’ll ever do that whole wedding thing myself (fun fact: posable fake spouses are terrible predictors of real romance). But dang, watching people champion their love story so unabashedly made me realize how messy, unpredictable, and also inexplicably worth it human connection can be.

Takeaways From the Best/Worst Day as a Fake Husband

  • Sure, weddings are an industry—but relationships aren’t. The beautiful thing about real partnership is that it doesn’t live on a timeline, in glossy photos, or even (gasp!) in whether or not you spell your name on a towel. It’s in the small moments: improvised backstories, shared laughs, and even playful arguments over how lavender should not go in cake.

  • Embrace chaos together. If a couple can survive a wedding expo—or better yet, laugh their way through one—they’re probably ready for anything.

  • Stop overthinking. A very wise fake spouse once told me, “Nobody actually remembers if your napkin rings match the centerpieces.” And honestly, I think she’s right.

At the end of the day, Nancy and I high-fived like the awkward “married duo” we weren’t. Then we parted ways with a mutual understanding: this single day of pretending was more than enough.

The moral of the story? Connection doesn’t have to be perfect. Sometimes it’s about fumbling your way through an aisle of monogrammed towels, realizing you have no idea what you're doing—and laughing anyway.