I never wanted a big fairy-tale wedding if I ever got married. As a kid, I was obsessed with two things: fashion and climate change. Growing up in New Orleans, I understood early on that my city was on the front lines of rising sea levels. I’d stay up watching Fashion TV on VH1 (look it up) while worrying about coastal erosion. Recently, I found a journal entry from when I was nine, listing three things on my mind: global warming, my first-day-of-school outfit, and the boy I liked. (Spoiler: It wasn’t the man I married a few weeks ago on the spring equinox.)

Back then, I resisted the idea of marriage as some final destination. My mother, grandmother, and godmother showed me how to carve my own path. My mom was far from traditional—she let my sisters and me use her wedding dress as a Mardi Gras costume, never treating it as sacred (early upcycling, maybe?). My godmother, the late gallerist Julie Saul, never married and embodied independence. And my Grandma Bea joked that she’d lose her “grandmother license” for telling me, “You don’t need to get married or have kids. But if you do, pick someone who makes you laugh.”

I set marriage aside and focused on becoming an environmental lawyer. When Hurricane Katrina hit during my college years, I threw myself into working for environmental nonprofits and the co-chair of Congress’s global-warming committee. But I unexpectedly fell in love with storytelling and shifted from law to PR. In 2013, I cofounded an agency dedicated to amplifying people and organizations working toward a better world.

Years later, I met a man who fit Grandma Bea’s criteria—he shared my values and made me laugh. In 2019, we spontaneously got engaged over dinner at Russ & Daughters Cafe on Orchard Street, where my grandma’s family once ran a small hosiery cart in the early 1900s. I didn’t want a new ring, so the next day we picked out a vintage Mikimoto pearl band—a choice that felt more sustainable. Though I briefly fantasized about a big New Orleans wedding, I really wanted something small, affordable, and low-waste.

The pandemic gave us a long pause (and a baby), so we ended up planning our wedding in just two weeks after six years of waiting. We kept it intimate—just our parents and our son. For my outfit, I wanted everything to reflect my values: pre-loved pieces or sustainable designs by friends. I thought I already had the dress—a sheer number from Jerome Vintage—but at the last minute, I knew it wasn’t right.

Panicking, I turned to friends (a perk of working in fashion for over a decade). Maria McManus immediately said, “I have the perfect dress for you.” It was minimal, intricate, and elegant. Writer Jayme Cyk connected me with stylist Allison Bornstein, who helped me find The Row shoes on Vestiaire Collective and pearl earrings with a modern twist from Completedworks.

I also reached out to stylist Robyn Davies, who had recently helped me reorganize my closet without buying anything new. She lent me lace gloves and suggested pairing the dress with a blazer. With two days left, we finished the look with an ivory jacket from Another Tomorrow—a brand founded by Vanessa Barboni Hallik, who’s pushing for real change in fashion. I knew I’d rewear every piece, from the dress to the earrings.For the final touches, I wore pieces I already had: my mother’s simple gold bracelet (passed down from her mom), a pearl necklace from Alaseius, my vintage pearl engagement ring, and my Grandma Bea’s topaz ring, which she left me when she passed away last spring.

Photo: Ryan Duffin

I collaborated with Alex Crowder of Field Studies Flora on my bouquet. She works with locally sourced, seasonal flowers to create stunning, sculptural arrangements, and I gave her free rein to design whatever inspired her. She even gave my son a little bouquet—he wore Veja Kids sneakers (he chose the color himself), a suit matching his dad’s, and a Mini Rodini shirt.

Photo: Ryan Duffin

With an 11 a.m. courthouse appointment, we didn’t have much time to get ready. Neil Pittman, who’s been doing my hair for a decade, introduced me to his incredibly talented makeup artist friend, Natalia Thomas. Their friendship, plus my long history with Neil, made for a fun and relaxed 7 a.m. start—coffee, makeup, and hair in the kitchen while my parents watched our son. When they finished, I felt like myself, just a little more polished. I slipped into my dress and coat, and we took the subway to City Hall. Strangers on the Q train smiled at us, making the city feel like part of the celebration.

Our photographer, Ryan Duffin, met us at City Hall. The ceremony was everything I’d hoped for—couples of all ages and backgrounds waiting their turn, exchanging congratulations. Though our engagement had been long and the City Hall process straightforward, I surprised myself (and everyone there) by crying at the altar. Usually, my husband’s the emotional one, but it was such a meaningful moment.

Photo: Ryan Duffin

Afterward, we went to Russ & Daughters for lunch. My friend, artist Sam Bloom, greeted us with her camera and captured the day beautifully on film. Being back at the restaurant where we got engaged six years earlier—on the same street where my grandmother’s family once struggled to make ends meet selling hosiery over a century ago—was more than I could have imagined. A few times, I closed my eyes and felt her presence, along with the deeper meaning behind our small, intentional choices.

Photo: Sam Bloom

When I shared the significance of the location with Niki Russ Federman, whose family founded Russ & Daughters, she said, “Who knows—maybe my great-grandmother Bella Russ or one of the Russ daughters bought hosiery from that cart! I like to say, and kind of believe, that all roads lead back to the Lower East Side.” I thought about her words as we took the B train home to Brooklyn.

Honestly, I’d never dreamed of this day. My dreams were always about working on causes I cared about and finding a community that did the same. But by weaving those values into a life with a partner who shares them—and by finding meaning in the details—I ended up with the wedding I didn’t even know I wanted.