I've decided that I don't want my wedding photos to be timeless.

And it's only taken me 16 years to come to this conclusion.

For me, individuality is sewn into the very core of my being.

I remember afternoons spent watching Fashion TV when I should have been revising for my GCSEs. Back then, fashion seemingly allowed creativity and freedom of self-expression in a way that totally had me hooked, because for as long as I can remember, I've been obsessed with doing the thing that nobody else is doing. And as a neurodivergent, fat, bisexual,

second-generation immigrant kid, I guess fitting in wasn't really part of the plan. Not fitting in is never the easy way out.

It took me a very long time, but eventually I settled into myself.

In 2009, my husband proposed and we started planning a wedding. All of a sudden, I was met with a lot of barriers to my individuality. In fact, to our joint individuality, as two people who aren't particularly trend-led. The things we wanted weren't available on a wedding scale, and I found myself coming up against what I can only describe as wedding "sameism." And within that, there's this underlying message you can't seem to ignore.

How do I stop my wedding photos from looking dated?

Spoiler alert: you actually can't.

In fact, after a decade of working in weddings, I've realised that I don't want that at all.

Because imagine how fucking boring it would be if every wedding photograph you ever saw gave no indication of when it happened. Just eerie, beautiful images of people smiling, completely detached from the time and space that event took up.

I'd love to tell you that my own wedding escaped this, but of course it didn't. Dates, ageing, change. They're all very much part of the human experience, however hard we try to escape them.

Try as I might, my photos still look like they were taken in 2010. The quality of them is terrible. We'll blame that on my photographer because, for someone who was so worried about having a timeless wedding, I apparently didn't vet my photographer enough.

Looking back, I love that my wedding looks like it happened in 2010. Because it reminds me of who I was in that moment. The person who made those choices. The person who hadn't had any children yet.

She was different. She was more carefree. She had more disposable income. She was many things that I no longer am.

And I'm happy as I am now. But I like to be reminded of her, because she is me.

There's something incredible about looking at wedding photographs from the 60s, 70s or 80s and immediately feeling the period they belong to. Everything comes together to create this vision of an era and all the things that felt so desirable at the time.

Those photographs haven't failed because they're dated.

The date is part of what makes them so entertaining to look at.

There'll probably never be another decade quite as visually obvious as the 80s. Fashion doesn't move in the same neat little blocks anymore. We have access to almost everything, all at once. Every era, every reference, every designer, every subculture.

In 2026, we theoretically have more freedom to express ourselves than ever before.

Which makes me wonder why so many of us are determined to look the same?

Pinterest has given us access to an unbelievable amount of inspiration, but it's also created this strange wedding ideal. The right dress. The right flowers. Even the right partner. The right image of two people, happy and smiling, about to enjoy the rest of their lives together, perfectly posed in the shot that everyone already has saved to their Pinterest boards.

Is it the pursuit of timelessness that drives wedding sameism?

If being timeless means removing every choice that might eventually reveal when you got married, I'm not sure that's something I want anymore.

I suspect we'll look back at photographs from 2026 in twenty years and know exactly when they were taken. We just can't see the clues yet because we're living inside them.

Maybe it'll be the slick backs. The documentary flash photography. The huge tiramisu cakes.

Something will give us away. And good. Because your wedding happens somewhere in time.

In ten years you'll look back at one of those choices and think, fuck me. But you'll also remember the process that drew you to make those choices, and within that you'll remember exactly who you were at the time.

Of course, individuality isn't always easy. There are a million reasons someone might not be able to turn up as the fullest, loudest version of themselves, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting a beautiful wedding that simply feels comfortable and familiar.

I wore white DMs on my wedding day because my dress was so out of my comfort zone that I needed to drag it back to feeling like me.

Not one single regret.