What Ever Happenned to Southern Manners?

Living in Los Angeles during the year and a half when same-sex marriage was legalized, un-legalized, and "officially" un-legalized, I thought I'd heard every possible marriage conversation. In addition to the pro-rights rhetoric and the opposing religious/homophobic/protectionist babble, there were the dozens of internal conversations within pro-marriage communities. From the greater LGBTQ community, it was should you or shouldn't you? From confused but well-meaning heteros (and the rogue queer or two), it was could you or couldn't you? Was it legal or not? From friends and family, and from more than a few complete strangers, it was will you or won't you? My partner and I had only been together 7 months when the Supreme Court first ruled the marriage ban unconstitutional, yet it was quite common for total strangers to insist we should run out and get married right away, because 'you never know how long it'll stay legal.'

But our recent move back to my partner's homestate of Texas has set off a whole new kind of conversation - and not the one you're expecting. It has always been my experience people in the South are exceeding polite, often (to my blunt New York sensibilities) to the point of absurdity. Anymore smiling and nodding and they would turn into a giant army of bobble-head dolls. And yet when it comes to conversations about our engagement and upcoming wedding, everything I thought I knew about good southern manners disappears.

'Oh my god! I've never been to a lesbian wedding!' Random strangers squeal like they've just won the lotto and a free trip to Disneyworld all in one day. 'I want to come! I'm so excited! When is it?'

Now, I grew up in a straight-forward, shit-talking, no-holds-barred community in a state famous for rude behavior, and even I learned somewhere along the way that it is not polite to invite yourself to someone's wedding. The first time this happened, I laughed it off to drunken camaraderie. The second time, I managed to vaguely imply it was far away and nothing was planned yet. The THIRD time, I wrinkled my brow and started to respond, at which point they cut me off and actually asked if they could bring friends!!! My jaw literally fell to the table. My partner smoothly jumped in and said something charmingly southern as I shot daggers and reared up for a vitriolic response. She pulled me aside before I could explode, fixed me with a you-are-in-Texas-not-New-York-and-I-expect-you-to-behave-accordingly look, and explained the proper thing to do was smile and say "Sure! How nice!" or "Bless your heart! We'd love that!" and then change the subject. This is apparently the standard southern translation for "Are you fucking kidding?' How rude can you be?"

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that EVERY SINGLE TIME we talked about our wedding in a public place, at least one person would invite themselves or request an invitation. And by the third or fourth request, it wasn't the rudeness that bothered me. It was the pervasive idea that our wedding was some kind circus show people could invite themselves to, or use to gain liberal cred: "Some of my best friends are black." "I worked with this gay guy once, and we were totally bff's. Gay people are so much fun!" "I slept with an asian chick/black guy/french girl/Cherokee dude." "I went to a lesbian wedding." Like that.

So You're EnGAYged has a great post listing 5 things not to say to a gay couple getting married. These are certainly among the most common and most exhausting/irritating/joy-quenching responses I received. Sure, it frustrates me when I giddily announce to a childhood friend that I just got engaged, and instead of jumping up and down and squealing high-pitched congratulations, they cock their head and ask whether or not its legal. And I have to spend 20 minutes explaining the intricacies of California's initiative process and the contradictory existence of DOMA and the Full Faith and Credit Clause, when what I'd like to be discussing are dresses, rings, and flower colors. But for the most part those questions come from supportive friends who are asking out of concern, making it a little easier to remain patient. It's the constant objectification by all the pushy, oblivious pseudo-well-wishers that wears me down the most.

It's not like the fetishization of lesbians and bisexuals is breaking news, and as someone who identifies as pansexual (and has regularly been lumped in with bisexuals, lesbians, and heteros depending on my relationship of the moment), I'm all too familiar with the ways ingrained homophobia and heteronormative expectations can manifest in more subtle forms. But when it intrudes on my wedding - my wedding - I've discovered that all my time-worn coping mechanisms malfunction. For anyone who still isn't getting why this is such a big deal, let me break it down: a wedding is an incredibly intimate, personal, and often spiritual experience. While there may be other reasons some couples marry (legal, financial, etc), for most couples this is their chance to profess a lifelong vow of their commitment to and love for one another, often in front of all the people they hold most dear. This is not because they are showing off - it's because they are honoring their relationship by making a public declaration of accountability and intent, in front of people who support and celebrate their decision. An invitation to a wedding means that you are welcome as a witness to this commitment and as a vital part of the affirmative energy surrounding their declaration.

THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO RACK UP COOL-BY-ASSOCIATION QUEER CRED. Not that there is ever a time, or that it is ever appropriate to objectify someone's ethnic, sexual, or racial orientation. But seriously, folks. You are not invited to my wedding. I've never been to a bi-racial Bollywood wedding on the back of a cargo ship, but that doesn't mean I expect to be invited the next time one's going on. If you want to show your appreciation for the lgbtq community, make a donation to HRC. Write your congressman. Lobby for better diversity education in your state's school system. The community thanks you. Who knows, you might even become friends with some queers who will invite you to their wedding, all of their own volition.

Hopefully by then you'll have forgotten why you thought it was so 'cool' in the first place.