💍 Dearborn Wedding Season: Hunger Games in High Heels 💍

Welcome to Dearborn Wedding Season — the annual blood sport where the vows are optional but the flexing is mandatory. Love might be in the air, but so is the scent of 17 pounds of oud, a $40k floral arrangement, and an unpaid loan your uncle swore he could “pay back after tax season.”

This isn’t a celebration of two souls coming together. No, this is a Battle Royale of Bank Accounts, where families compete to see who can spend the most money they don’t actually have… all for a wedding video nobody will ever watch again.

The Bride Wars

Dearborn brides are built different. This isn’t about love — it’s about prestige. You think she spent three months on a seating chart because she cares where Auntie Fatima sits? No. It’s strategic battlefield placement to make sure certain cousins can see the Swarovski crystals on her dress from every angle.

The gown? Imported from Beirut for $12k. The tiara? Rented but don’t tell anyone. The makeup? So thick you could use it as drywall paste. By the end of the night, her cheeks are numb, her lips are dehydrated, and her lashes are trying to detach themselves in protest.

The Groom’s Role (AKA “Stand There and Pay”)

Dearborn grooms are props in their own wedding. They don’t pick the colors, the venue, or the menu. They just sign checks and smile like a man who knows he’ll be eating mana’eesh with no za’atar if he says the wrong thing.

By the time he’s on stage, he’s already rehearsing his “worth it” speech for his accountant. Spoiler: it wasn’t worth it.

The Guest List Math Problem

You invite 300 people. Dearborn Law says at least 600 will show up. How? Nobody knows. Some are friends of cousins who haven’t spoken to you since 2012. Others are just here for the free food and a shot at meeting a rich in-law.

Oh, and don’t forget the wedding gift calculus:

• If you’re close to the couple: $500+ cash.

• If you barely know them: $100 and a Target card you had lying around.

• If you’re Yemeni and have 15 kids: $50 and a tray of basbousa.

The Buffet Olympics

Dearborn wedding buffets are organized chaos. Aunties forming barricades at the lamb carving station. Uncles cutting in line like they’re storming a border checkpoint. That one guy who fills his plate so high with rice you’re convinced he’s smuggling it out.

And don’t even think about skipping dessert — not because you want it, but because someone’s teta will personally shame you for “not eating enough.”

The Dance Floor Wars

Ah yes — the dabke circle. Where men suddenly become choreographers, women in 7-inch heels turn into athletes, and that one uncle inevitably tears his meniscus trying to do a split at age 54.

Meanwhile, the DJ is holding the crowd hostage with the same three songs:

1. “Habibi Ya Nour El Ain”

2. “Ya Tabtab”

3. Drake’s “God’s Plan” — but with a derbake beat over it.

The Aftermath

By the end of the night:

• The groom’s wallet is lighter.

• The bride’s shoes are off.

• Half the family isn’t speaking to each other.

• And Instagram is flooded with captions like “The most magical night of our lives”, which really means, “We survived and nobody fainted during the zaffeh.”

Final Thought

In Dearborn, weddings aren’t about marriage — they’re about winning. Winning the respect of your neighbors, the envy of your cousins, and the approval of that one aunt who only compliments people behind their backs.

Because in the end, the real marriage isn’t between bride and groom. It’s between Dearborn’s ego and its obsession with showing off. And that… is a love story that will never end.

Yours truly,

Habib