Yesterday, news broke that a formal request to review and overturn Obergefell v. Hodges made its way to the Supreme Court. I wish I could say I was surprised. Thankfully, on December 27, 2024, my wife and I legally wed in New York City. It was a beautiful celebration with our families—a day that was truly the happiest of my life, even if it was tinged with sentiments of fear. Moving forward, we will continue living together as a family and prepare ourselves for whatever may come.
Wednesday morning, I woke up and the first thought that sprang to mind was: I’m supposed to try on wedding dresses today, but I don’t know if I can legally get married next year. I felt a tightness in my chest and the start of tears as I grappled with what my life as a gay, engaged woman would look like in Trump’s America.
I’ve always been a pragmatic optimist—willing to do the work and always holding the hope that it could make a difference. I spent the weekend before the election canvassing in Pennsylvania and making calls to Wisconsin, where I felt uplifted by positive pro-Harris conversations I had with swing-state voters. Women were coming out in droves, it seemed, saying they voted for her, and some lifelong Republicans were going to cross party lines. While I encountered a few fiery, flag-bearing MAGA supporters circling our canvassing headquarters in pickup trucks, they just seemed to want to make their presence appear bigger than it really was.
But now the one thing that scares me most is that I no longer feel like I can envision my future. Will a stacked Supreme Court overturn my right to marry? Would I ever be allowed to have children with my fiancée via IUI or IVF? Will I even be allowed to adopt a child? If we do have a child, would we both be able to be their legal parents? If we cross state lines, would our marriage not be recognized? Would I not be able to visit my future wife in the hospital if she gets hurt or sick? Will my family be recognized as a family by my country?
My fiancée, Liv, and I had planned our wedding for November 2025 in our Brooklyn neighborhood. As a wedding writer and editor with years of experience covering celebrations, I ve been so overwhelmingly excited to finally work on planning my own celebration. But when I woke up on that Wednesday, the first thing I did was to turn to Liv and tell her that we should get legally married at City Hall in the next few months. I expected her to protest and say I was overreacting, but she agreed it was not a bad idea. Our text group chat with our parents agreed too. We didn’t know the future, but we thought that if we had a legal marriage now, it would be harder to void it later. And if we ever needed to move to another country, the immigration process together might be easier.
I was not alone in this idea. After a quick DM check-in with another queer, engaged friend in the wedding industry, Jove Meyer, he said he had the exact same conversation that morning with his fiancé. Clearly, the ticking clock was loud enough for us all to hear.
Both Liv and I had planned to try on wedding dresses that day. She was going with her mom and aunt to a trunk show, and I was going to try on a Monique Lhuillier gown I loved at Bridal Fashion Week. Liv wanted to cancel her appointment, but I reassured her that she should go and not miss the chance to try on a dress she had loved for months. Plus, it would be helpful to see her family on this hard day.
I got brunch (and a much-needed mimosa) with two friends, then headed uptown. The happy demeanors of women shopping around me felt strange and jarring, but the bridal stylist I would be working with, Carson Overby, set me at ease. As a fellow gay, engaged person, he shared his fears and a very real discussion he also had with his fiancé—who is currently living in Texas—about getting married at City Hall in a few weeks. He was scared that he wouldn’t have the right to visit him in the hospital if he got hurt or sick in such a red state. It helped to talk through our excitement around our big wedding plans—and strategize how we might want to protect ourselves too.
When I got home that evening, Liv and I chatted with our moms on the phone and made plans for a small holiday wedding with just our families in New York. Mine would fly out from California, and we could have our first Christmas and Hanukkah together as a new, larger family. However, we do still intend to have our proper celebration next November.
While we may be acting out of fear, that fear is valid. With the possibility of Obergefell v. Hodges being overturned by a stacked Supreme Court, our right to marry is truly under threat. But our families understand it—I just hope that others can join in and support the queer community.
