Are Destination Weddings Selfish and Rude? Here’s What You Need to Know

I used to think destination weddings were selfish and rude and only for people who wanted to flex on Instagram. That was until my fiancé looked up from a plate of shrimp and grits at the OBX Brewery Station in Kill Devil Hills and said, “This. Right here. This is where I want to marry you.” The Outer Banks. Sand in the floorboards, wild ponies on the beach road, ocean breezes and a horizon that doesn’t quit. I said yes before the check came.

We could’ve played it safe: the church back home, a reception hall, two hundred guests and a cash bar. Instead, we mailed a postcard that looked like it had been through a nor’easter: Twenty-five spots on the sand. OBX. Bring flip-flops and forgiveness. Selfish? Sure, if we’d demanded everyone empty their savings. Rude? Only if we’d ghosted the ones who couldn’t swing it. Instead, we hosted our closest twenty-five friends and family for an entire week at the best ocean front beach rental that we got through Twiddy. We rented two houses, side by side on the 4xr beach for a week. No one had to pay for anything. We paid the entire bill, but they were responsible for getting there on their own two feet.

The Destination Wedding Dilemma

The cathedral cuts out the broke cousin. The backyard pig roast cuts out the vegan aunt. The OBX cuts out the desk-chained, motion-sick, the ones who can’t miss little league. But it hands you sunrise over the sound, your dad grilling fish on a cooler lid, and a ring bearer who crowns himself with sea grass because the closest florist is 45 minutes away.

Why Destination Weddings Aren’t Necessarily Rude

Twenty-five people who would hitch a ride on a shrimp boat to get there. The rest got the homecoming: a bonfire at the local brewery two weeks later, same vows on a cracked phone screen, same tears in cheaper shoes. Nobody had to pick between rent and our rings. And nobody—no one—got the side-eye for staying home. If they couldn’t make it, we weren’t worried. Love doesn’t keep score.

The morning of, a nor’easter grazed the coast. Wind howled like it had opinions. The beach house lost power at breakfast. We moved the ceremony to the dunes anyway—barefoot, hair sideways, my bride’s veil doing its best kite impression. The officiant yelled over the surf; we yelled back. A jogger in neon spandex stopped, clapped, kept running. And then—because the OBX doesn’t do subtle—the wild ponies came thundering through the ceremony site like they’d been invited all along. Hooves kicking up sand, manes flying, the whole herd cutting right between the ocean and us and the altar.

Dinner and dancing was at the Sea Ranch Resort in Kill Devil Hills. Whatever survived the cooler: shrimp, corn, potatoes, lobster, all got boiled in a turkey fryer back at the beach house, corn charred on driftwood. That smell—salt and pine and something electric—got into every thread. I still catch it sometimes when I pull an old hoodie from the back of the closet. The ponies? Long gone, but we swore we heard hoofbeats in the waves all night.

We got lots of a fun, candid, spontaneous wedding photos by our photographer, Steven Parker. The disposables came back salt-spotted and blurry, one shot of me mid-laugh, mouth wide, eyes shut, the Atlantic doing cartwheels behind me. It’s on our fridge next to the grocery list.

People still ask if we feel bad about the ones who stayed home. Truth: the twenty-five who came carried the hundred who couldn’t. We Face Timed my grandma from the dune line; she toasted us with sweet tea and a tissue. The brewery crowd replayed the livestream on a projector and cheered like it was live. Love doesn’t shrink with miles—it just changes carriers.

Here’s what nobody admits: every wedding is a choice, and every choice leaves someone out. The cathedral downtown excludes the cousin who can’t afford parking. The potluck picnic excludes the aunt with celiac. The destination excludes the broke, the immobile, the overworked. But it includes the couple who dream of barefoot vows at sunset, who want the ocean to crash louder than small talk. The couples who dare to be true to themselves, at all costs.