I’ll Just Do Some Research…A Wedding Horror Story You Don’t Know You’re In (Yet)
It all Started With “I’ll Just Do Some Research…”
[Cue ominous violin…]
A newly engaged couple. Hearts full. Pinterest boards brimming with pampas grass and twinkle lights. They’re searching for a wedding venue in the Pacific Northwest with a reasonable budget, real charm, and someone—anyone—who will help them keep things simple.
They find The Finery.
It’s intimate. It’s beautiful. It comes with photography, florals, rentals, décor, officiant, setup, breakdown, coordination—basically everything except the dinner. (Don’t worry, we introduce you to caterers who already know our venue and won’t hand you a two-page list of requirements.)
They inquire. We chat. The vibe is immaculate.
And then they hit the per-guest price.
Music stops.
“That seems… higher than we planned.”
Like every protagonist who ignores the mysterious rustling in the woods, they decide to “just look around.”
“How hard could it be to do this ourselves?”
[Thunder cracks]
ACT ONE: Into the Woods
She opens her laptop.
“I’ll just do some research,” she says, like she isn’t about to summon spreadsheet demons.
She Googles ‘wedding venues Camano Island.’
She finds a barn venue for only $1,500.
She clicks.
It includes:
The barn.
That’s the list.
Everything else? Tables, chairs, linens, décor, glassware, florals, photography, coordination, delivery fees, setup, breakdown, cleanup, staffing… is on her.
“So… everything?” she whispers.
Somewhere in the distance, a DJ plays a faint, cursed remix of “Canon in D.”
ACT TWO: The Spreadsheet That Stares Back
Two weeks later, she has a spreadsheet with more tabs than Costco has aisles.
She has emailed fourteen photographers.
Three ghosted.
Four are booked.
Seven cost $3,000–$5,000 for photos only.
She finds a caterer who might drive to Camano.
They don’t include rentals. Or serving staff.
They need final counts three weeks early.
They charge extra for cutting the cake.
“A… cake-cutting fee?” she asks the universe at 11pm.
Her fiancé wanders in.
“How’s planning going?”
She turns her head slowly. “Did you know you have to rent plates?”
[Distant shriek]
ACT THREE: Vendor Voltron
Six weeks before the wedding, she’s juggling 12 vendors like it’s her unpaid internship.
The photographer needs the timeline.
The caterer needs delivery windows.
The rental company needs counts.
The florist needs access.
The coordinator doesn’t start until 4pm.
She creates a reply-all email.
She should not have done this.
The florist replies asking someone to move their Subaru.
The photographer replies with “???”.
The caterer needs access to a kitchen that doesn’t exist.
Her inbox pings like popcorn.
47 unread messages—all about her wedding. All today.
She closes the laptop. Reopens it.
Searches:
“The Finery Camano Island availability”
[Hopeful music quietly rises]
THE MIRROR MOMENT
She finally sees it: somewhere along the way, she became not a bride, but a logistics manager.
She is planning a mini corporate retreat disguised as a wedding.
And on the morning of her celebration—who will set up the 30 chairs? Who will wrangle Uncle Rick? Who will clean up 90 forks at 9pm?
Answer:
Her.
Or her mom.
Or her best friend who paid good money to wear a dress and drink champagne… not to run a volunteer cleanup brigade.
THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE
She opens our original email.
She actually reads it this time.
Venue. Setup. Decor. Rentals. Photography. Florals. Coordination. Break down. Cleanup. Guest management.
And catering—connected to people who already know our property and requirements.
“Wait… photography is included?”
She glances back at her spreadsheet.
Photo quotes: $3,000–$5,000.
She scrolls.
We build your timeline.
We manage your vendors.
We set every table and chair.
We run the day.
You show up, have a kiss, eat cake, take gorgeous photos, and soak it all in.
She does the math. Real math this time.
Barn venue + rentals + caterer + delivery fees + photography + florals + coordinator + setup + breakdown + cleanup + all the emotional labor = $11,000+
…with her as the unpaid project manager.
The Finery?
Less.
Zero spreadsheets.
Zero 2am meltdowns.
“Oh.”
[Cue angelic choir]
THE PLOT TWIST
Here’s the thing no one tells you at the start:
The Finery isn’t “expensive.” It’s complete.
I’m not just the venue owner.
I’m the landscaper, coordinator, decorator, setup crew, timeline wrangler, family whisperer, cake rescuer, and cleanup ninja.
Your event is 3–5 hours.
My day is 10–12 hours.
Every. Single. Time.
Our packages include professional photography—often the biggest line item in wedding budgets.
We don’t do contact juggling, vendor wrangling, or “Can you just move these 40 chairs?” during your vows.
We don’t make your mom run coffee or force your bridesmaids to learn how to fold napkins at dawn.
You get to be present.
That’s the point.
EPILOGUE
Three months later, an email arrives:
“Hi! We tried to DIY. We’ve seen things. We need The Finery. Are you available?”
Sometimes we are.
More often… we’re not.
Couples who survive the DIY gauntlet inevitably circle back—not because they failed, but because they finally realized they don’t want wedding logistics to be their personality trait.
So if you’re shopping around, by all means—go on the pilgrimage.
Just know that at midnight, when your spreadsheet hits Tab 38 and your sanity hits zero…
We’ll still be here.
Everything handled.
Everything ready.
No horror story needed.
— Lauren
Owner of The Finery
Recovering DIY bride. Professional chaos-tamer. Lover of simple, beautiful celebrations.
P.S.
The real terror? Becoming the person sending 83 group emails about napkin colors.
Choose peace. Choose presence. Choose The Finery.
