Carolyn Hax: Ex-hippie is ‘insulted’ by fancy expectations for relative’s wedding

Q: I was a hippie in the ’70s. I was married in my parents’ backyard and asked that it be a potluck. I sewed my own wedding dress. I didn’t expect any presents or special attire.

My husband’s niece, whose son is getting married in Texas, sent us an invitation. We live in Oregon. I admit I haven’t been to many weddings in my life. I was a bridesmaid for my best friend when I was 50. So when I read the invitation and saw that it was a black-tie affair, I was not sure what that meant.

A second part to the invitation came in the mail that clarified our attire had to be a lot fancier than I happen to have in my closet. Plus, we were instructed that if we wanted to venture away from the bride and groom’s registry, it had to be approved by the bride and groom. There were also pages of strapless dresses to be used as a guide for what to wear.

I am not feeling gracious. I do not want to go. I am sure I could wear my best outfit and give cash as a gift and no one would complain to my face.

My husband is mortified that I am insulted by the conditions laid out in order to be a part of this wedding.

What I would love to do is to tell the wedding planners to get over themselves. I won’t, but how do I get the scowl off my face when I go to a wedding that I believe is a Cinderella [shirt] show?

— Never Been a Cinderella

A: I’ve got a thought exercise for you.

If you had come of bridal age in a Cinderella era instead, would you still have been a hippie?

Or would you always have been a product of your times, whatever those times happened to be? A big-hair, poof-sleeve lady of the ’80s? Arguing to your mom in the late ’90s that a honeymoon registry was actually less grabby than marginally upgrading your toaster? Touring barns in the teens for something rustic, but not too-, like you saw on Instagram?

Sure, you can find a dress in your closet, cut a check, hop a plane and judge the couple to your heart’s content. Maybe you would have been wonderfully low-key in any era.

But you could just as easily get over yourself here, rent a lovely dress or thrift one new with tags for 50 bucks (with silent thanks to the bride for the cheat sheet, since you’re a black-tie newbie), buy the couple something off the registry — and commit to being your husband’s game, cheerful plus-one as he spends time with family members I bet he rarely gets to see. And you can wish a couple well.

Were the gift instructions over the line? Yes. Ick. Will the wedding itself be over-the-top? I suspect it will.

But you know what, who cares? I have opinions on big-production weddings, but they’re not relevant here, any more than the squares’ pearl-clutching mattered in response to your bare feet and daisies. So, culture truce: The host’s excesses are no more your problem than your hippie history needs to be theirs.

Go, dance till it hurts. Or go wild on the hors d’oeuvres. They’re usually the best part of these big catered things.

If you can’t even find joy in a new dress, party snacks and doing your husband a solid, then maybe it is best for all involved to send him solo, with your polite regrets.

• Email Carolyn at tellme@washpost.com, or chat with her online at 11 a.m. Central time each Friday at washingtonpost.com.

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