There comes a time in every young woman’s life when she’s faced with a question that tests the limits of her love. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, she squeals out a “Yes!”—only to later pause and consider the commitment, the financial entanglement, the sheer amount of her life she’ll be expected to devote to this person.

Will you be my bridesmaid? was once a simple request requiring maybe one night of doing shots with the bride and one day of sporting a pouffy dress with a modest neckline. But being a bridesmaid, for many young women, has metastasized into an 18-month affair featuring four-day retreats in destination accommodations, $800 gowns, an unpaid part-time job monitoring group chats and Venmo requests, and multiple showers (gifts technically optional, but socially mandatory). Last season, SNL captured inflation in the bridesmaid economy with a trailer for a bridesmaid-cult documentary. “I tried to say I couldn’t afford to go because of my student loans,” a traumatized-looking woman said about the bachelorette trip. “The maid of honor texted back ‘no worries!!!!!’ with a sparkle emoji. I knew what that meant. I sold my car to make it happen.”

From the July/August 2023 issue: The fake poor bride

I have been a bridesmaid every year for the past seven years. I have a savings account titled “[name]’s bachelorette & wedding.” It has never been closed—only replenished each time I edit the name from “Amy” to “Madison” to “Mary.” Other people’s weddings are a $2,500 line item in my annual budget, which brings my total spent on bridal-party duties to nearly $20,000. Have we reached peak bridesmaid? I desperately hope so, because I am a 27-year-old woman, and I have plenty of friends left who have yet to make it to the altar.

A recent report from Zill