“I was in my forties and happily single, so I decided to marry myself”

This coming April, I’ll be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my wedding—to myself. I was never the type of person who dreamed of a big white wedding with all the fixings. Frankly, I thought both the institution of marriage and the wedding industrial complex could use a major overhaul. It should be possible to experience love and commitment without going over the top or into debt. So, in 2015, when I read a short piece on Twitter about how single women in Japan were opting to “marry” themselves, I was intrigued. The focus wasn’t on the ceremony or the vows but rather on the joy of getting dressed up, being a bride for a day and having lovely photos taken. Why should you need a groom for that? I was 41, a self-proclaimed spinster and an avid traveller who’d never been to Japan. Up for trying anything once, I booked a ticket during cherry blossom season and flew to Kyoto.

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The woman behind the mock matrimonial service was a middle-aged Japanese divorcée who ran a boutique travel agency and charged her clients roughly $3,400 for a two-day package that included a dress rental, hair and makeup, and a photoshoot. I don’t usually wear fancy clothes or even makeup, so I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed trying on the gowns, each one more lavish than the last. I finally settled on a strapless number that flared out at the hips in a frothy explosion of tulle.

The hair and makeup artist had a tougher time with me. I’d woken up with conjunctivitis in one eye, and no amount of concealer could obscure the oozing puffiness. I asked her to style my hair in finger curls, but the effect was, to my amusement, less Old Hollywood and more Queen Mum. Like most photographers, I’m uncomfortable having my own picture taken. Yet, somehow, against a backdrop of blossoms, I successfully posed for some ­classic—if clichéd—wedding shots: bride gazing dreamily off into the distance, bride looking down through her lashes, bride blushing sweetly.

The wedding was staged, but the happiness I felt in the photos was real. When I look at them now, a decade later—a little greyer, wiser and still happily single—I know I made the right choice for me.