40 Years of Candid Advice From a Veteran Wedding Photographer
At a holiday party last week, new friends found out I’ve spent 40 years photographing weddings. Instantly, the questions started pouring in:
- “Who’s the most famous person you’ve photographed?”
- “Craziest thing you’ve seen at a wedding?”
- “Most beautiful place you’ve photographed a wedding?”
Being from a long line of Irish poets and storytellers, I couldn’t resist. I launched into a few of my favorite wedding tales.
There was the wedding in Stehekin, Washington—a breathtaking little town hidden in the Northern Cascades, accessible only by boat, seaplane, horseback, or, as I did it, by helicopter.
Or Tom Delonge’s wedding, where a cake cutting turned into a wild food fight with all 150 guests.
There was the time I had to give the Heimlich maneuver to the bride’s uncle—and out shot a chunk of prime rib.
And who could forget the 600-guest wedding in Mexico City, where I walked headlong into a sliding glass door, broke my nose, yet kept shooting until dawn. The photos were stunning, but I looked like a raccoon on the flight home. Amazing what adrenaline can do.
But no one ever asks, “What makes a perfect wedding?” The answer might surprise you.
I’ve had the privilege of photographing the weddings of the rich, the famous, the want-to-be famous, and the “fake-rich”, who have tapped into their home equity to stage a show-stopping event and bask in a fleeting, fairy-tale moment—a very expensive fairy tale.
I know what you’re thinking: “How cliché”. “That’s great if you’re broke and lonely, but we love our friends and family and want them to celebrate with us.”
Of course, you want to celebrate with friends and family—your love is worth sharing. But before maxing out your credit cards or taking out a second mortgage, consider this:
After 2,000 weddings in 40 years, here’s the truth: No matter how jaw-dropping the venue, how sky-high the budget, or how star-studded the entertainment, none of it ensures a truly unforgettable wedding. What really matters? The love between the couple and the folks they choose to share it with—whether that’s four guests or four hundred.
Last month, I had the pleasure of photographing a micro-wedding at the San Diego County Administration Building. I was retained for only 2 hours. There were 12 guests: Parents, siblings, and a few friends. Rather than being greeted by the wedding planner in a grand foyer with 300 placecards and flutes of Veuve Clicquot, we were met by two deputy sheriffs and a metal detector at the entrance to the County Clerk’s office. A polite but authoritative request to please place all bags on the conveyor belt.
The exclusivity of a 5-star luxury resort’s wedding certainly isn’t happening at City Hall. And that’s the best part! The whole 2nd floor of the County Administration building is full of people of all walks of life, preparing for, waiting for, or in the process of, getting married. The low buzz of hushed voices mixed with bursts of nervous laughter echoes through the halls. The air is thick with quiet certainty, mixed with tender vulnerability.
As the paperwork was reviewed and signed, the world outside kept moving, but inside, everything slowed. There were no grand aisles or sweeping crowds—just a patch of grass across from San Diego Bay, with steady hands, and a shared yes.
What mattered was simple and certain: two people choosing each other, fully and without spectacle. Their beginning didn’t need to be loud. It only needed to be true.
Jenna & Jared, November 7, 2025