From Potatoes to “Love at First Sip” Cocktails: What My Irish Ancestors Would Hate About Modern Weddings

Look, I’m a genealogy nerd.

There, I said it.

While everyone else was crying during my sister’s wedding vows yesterday, I was thinking about my great-great-grandparents’ wedding in 1872 Newark.

Normal, right?

(Spoiler alert: I did cry eventually. During the father-daughter dance. I’m not completely dead inside.)

But here’s the thing: watching my sister’s Pinterest-perfect celebration got me thinking about how absolutely wild our Irish immigrant ancestors would find modern weddings.

And by wild, I mean they’d probably think we’ve lost our Catholic minds.

So let’s break down what’s changed. And what hasn’t. And why I spent an entire wedding reception googling “Irish immigrant wedding traditions” instead of learning the Cupid Shuffle like a normal person.

More importantly, let’s talk about what our ancestors might teach us about what really matters.

Because sometimes, when you’re surrounded by floating lanterns and champagne walls, you need a reality check from people who knew the true definition of wealth.

The Guest List: From “Everyone in the Tenement” to “Sorry, No Plus-Ones”

In 1872, my great-great-grandparents invited whoever could climb the five flights of stairs to their Newark tenement apartment. The whole floor came. Kids too.

Not because they had a carefully curated guest list. But because community wasn’t a choice – it was survival.

When you’re working 14-hour days at the shoe factory, your neighbors are the ones who watch your kids. Who loan you flour when you’re short. Who sit with you when the fever takes one of your babies.

They were family by circumstance. Then family by choice.

Today? We spend three months crafting a spreadsheet that would make NASA engineers weep.

And don’t get me started on the plus-one drama. Great-great-grandma Annie would’ve been shocked. Back then, if you showed up with an extra person, they’d just squeeze closer together on the wooden chairs.

When you’re working 14-hour factory shifts, you’re too tired to care about seating charts.

But here’s what keeps me up at night: we’ve gained perfect table settings, but have we lost something more valuable? That instinct to squeeze closer together, to make room for one more?

The Dress: From “Borrowed Sunday Dress” to “Second Mortgage Required”

Annie probably borrowed her cousin’s best dress. Dark blue. Because practical. And because black was too expensive to dye.

She wasn’t a “bride.” She was a woman getting married. There’s a difference.

The dress didn’t make the marriage. The marriage made the dress.

Today a dress cost more than my great-great-grandparents made in three years at the textile mill. And it gets worn once.

Annie wore that borrowed dress to Mass for the next six months. Until her cousin needed it back.

Who’s the smart one here?

But maybe the real question isn’t about the dress at all. Maybe it’s about what we value. What we think we need to be happy.

The Photography: From “No Photos, Just Memories” to “17 Different Social Media Platforms”

Great-great-grandpa John and Annie couldn’t afford a photo. Not even one. Their wedding lives on only in family stories, passed down like precious heirlooms.

Think about that for a second. No evidence of their biggest day. No proof it even happened.

Except for us. Their descendants. Living proof that their love story worked out.

Yesterday? We had:

• 2 photographers
• 1 videographer
• 247 guests with iPhones
• A drone
• A photo booth
• And something called an “Instagram corner” that I still don’t understand

If they could see us now, they’d probably ask why we’re not spending that money on potatoes. Fair point, honestly.

But they’d also be amazed. Not by the technology. But by the fact that we have the luxury of capturing memories instead of just trying to survive them.

The Food: From “Whatever the Neighbors Could Spare” to “Dietary Restrictions Sheet Longer Than the Bible”

1872:

• Soup (probably mostly water, let’s be honest)
• Brown bread (if the flour wasn’t too weevily)
• Maybe a chicken if someone got lucky at the market
• Definitely potatoes (some things are sacred)
• Whatever vegetables the neighbors could spare
• Lots of tea (because whiskey was for after the meal)

The feast wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about gratitude. About having enough to share.

2024:

• Vegan option
• Gluten-free option
• Keto option
• Nut-free option
• Low-FODMAP option
• Something called “flexitarian”
• Late-night snacks (because apparently dinner wasn’t enough?)
• Dessert bar
• Candy bar
• Coffee bar
• Raw bar

Annie would’ve just crossed herself and said a prayer for our souls. And honestly? She might’ve been onto something.

But here’s what gets me: we’ve solved the problem of hunger. We have so many choices we need spreadsheets to track them.

And somehow, we’re still not satisfied.

The Timeline: From “After Mass” to “48-Page Minute-by-Minute Schedule”

Their timeline:

1. Mass at St. Patrick’s
2. Walk home
3. Eat what you can
4. Share a pint
5. Back to work the next day

No first look. No cocktail hour. No grand entrance.

Just the simple understanding that marriage isn’t about a day. It’s about all the days that follow.

Our timelines are longer than a graduate thesis. And color-coded. With backup plans for the backup plans.

Sometimes I wonder if we’re so busy planning the perfect day that we forget to plan for the life that comes after.

The Music: From “Uncle Seamus with His Fiddle” to “DJ With More Equipment Than NASA”

1872: Uncle Seamus played the fiddle he’d brought from County Leitrim. The same fiddle that made the journey across the Atlantic. That survived the coffin ships. That carried home in its notes.

Someone found a tin whistle. Mrs. Murphy from the third floor sang “Danny Boy” until everyone cried.

The music wasn’t background noise. It was their story. Their heart. Their home.

2024: A DJ setup that costs more than the entire tenement building where they lived. Plus a nine-piece band. And a special performance by Irish dancers we hired from a professional troupe.

(Though I’ll admit, when those Irish dancers came out, I got a little misty thinking about how proud Annie and John would’ve been to see their culture celebrated so beautifully at their great-great-granddaughter’s wedding.)

Here’s the thing about music: whether it’s from a fiddle or a professional band, it still has the power to make us feel connected. To remind us where we came from.

Even if we had to pay thousands of dollars to remember.

The Drinks: From “One Shared Bottle of Whiskey” to “Full Premium Open Bar”

1872: One bottle of whiskey, passed around carefully. Made everyone grateful for each sip.

When you share one bottle among twenty people, you learn something about community. About making sure everyone gets enough. About the grace of holding back so others can have their share.

2024: A bar selection that would make a Dublin pub owner weep. And somehow, Uncle Patrick still complained about the whiskey selection.

Some things never change.

But maybe Uncle Patrick could learn something from those tenement celebrations. About gratitude. About enough being plenty.

The Venue: From “Our Apartment Plus the Hallway” to “Historic Estate with Water Views”

Their venue: A two-room tenement apartment. Had to move the bed against the wall to make space for dancing.

The walls were thin. The floors creaked. The ceiling leaked when it rained.

But here’s what they had that we don’t:

• Neighbors who became family
• Community born of necessity
• The kind of wealth you can’t buy with money

Our venue: A place so fancy it has its own Instagram account. With gardens that have never grown food. With a ballroom bigger than their entire tenement floor.

Though I bet their cramped apartment held more love per square foot than any luxury venue ever could.

The Cost: From “Whatever We Can Scrape Together” to “Don’t Ask”

1872: Entire wedding cost a week’s wages. Maybe two if they splurged on the whiskey.

They started their marriage with nothing. But debt-free.

2024: The flower budget alone could’ve bought their entire tenement building in 1872.

We start our marriages with everything. Except freedom from debt.

What They Had That We Lost

But here’s what keeps me up at night.

They had nothing. And everything.

No photos. But memories etched so deep they’ve lasted five generations.

No venue. But community so strong it held them through winter and fever and hunger.

No designer dress. But a marriage that lasted until death did them part.

No Instagram. But stories their great-great-grandchildren still tell.

What We Could Learn (If We’re Willing to Listen)

Looking at these differences, it’s easy to feel superior. To think about how far we’ve come.

Indoor plumbing is nice. So is having enough food.

But maybe, just maybe, our ancestors knew something we’ve forgotten:

• That community matters more than aesthetics
• That love doesn’t need perfect documentation
• That marriage is about the life you build, not the party you throw
• That true wealth isn’t about what you have, but about what you share

The Bottom Line (Because Annie Would Want Me to Get to the Point)

Yesterday, watching their great-great-granddaughter walk down the aisle in a dress that cost more than they made in a decade, I couldn’t help but think they’d be proud.

Not of the fancy venue or the gourmet food or the professional photographers.

But of us. Their family. Still together. Still celebrating. Still Irish enough to cry during Danny Boy.

Even if we do it with better whiskey now.

They crossed an ocean with nothing but hope and grit. Built a life from nothing but work and faith.

And five generations later, their descendants are throwing parties that cost more than they made in a lifetime.

Is that success?

Maybe.

So here’s to you, Annie and John. Your tenement wedding might not have been Instagram-worthy.

But it was the foundation of everything we have today.

And maybe, just maybe, if we’re wise enough to learn from you, it can teach us everything we need to know about what really matters.

Author’s note: Written with gratitude for Annie and John, who had the courage to leave everything they knew for a chance at something better. And with love for my sister, who somehow managed to throw a perfect wedding while putting up with her genealogy-obsessed brother’s constant historical commentary. May your marriage be as resilient as Annie and John’s, and your life together as rich as they were – just with better plumbing.