When my then-fiancé first told me that he didn’t want to wear a wedding ring I was shocked, confused, and mildly suspicious. I didn’t know that this was an option, as though it was some kind of unspoken requirement for married men to be easily recognisable by virtue of a gold band.
“ Is this even legal ?” I thought to myself, wondering if it was possible for a man to walk around with a naked finger after his nuptials. What would we use for the ceremony if rings weren’t exchanged? Would we just hand each other attractive pebbles like penguins?
I must have spluttered or choked on my wine in response to his statement, because my now-husband was then quick to launch into a detailed and multifarious explanation as to why he would not, could not, and would never, wear a wedding ring .
For one, he “did not want to wear jewellery” which he said firmly, as though I was asking him to be adorned with statement earrings. I’d argue that a wedding band transcends the realm of “jewellery” and is more a wearable symbol of your unity – an indication of a serious relationship that cannot be abandoned without legal ramifications.
Personally, this reason felt flimsy as I believe that all people who aren’t habitual ring-wearers probably find it strange to start wearing one daily. But, I don’t think that it’s a profound inconvenience to their life, and as far as I can tell they kind of, just, get used to it without bringing it to the attention of Amnesty International.
My husband also stated that jewellery “does not suit him”, but I’m pretty sure that’s a hypothesis, rather than a factual statement, and I doubt he’s ever found himself amid the necklace aisle of Cartier while trialling a tennis bracelet.
His second reason was more firmly rooted: tradition. Men wearing wedding bands picked up in popularity following the Second World War, which, to my husband, who mentally lives in the late 1800s, feels like a relatively recent turn of events. He was quick to point out that “no men in [his] family ever wore wedding rings” (except his uncle, cousins, brother, etc).
He claimed “none of [his] friends” wore rings, although when pressed on the matter did concede that he wasn’t including his two best friends in this generalisation. His argument reached a crescendo when he brought his deceased mother into the conversation, declaring that some of the last words she ever said to him were: “Darling, please tell me you won’t wear a wedding ring” – a bold and dramatic claim that can neither be checked nor verified.
Since my husband is usually pretty malleable and it’s unlike him to be so unmoveable about an issue – I decided to let it go. Rarely is he so obstinate about anything, and as a man who is incapable of lying and couldn’t even blame a fart on a dog, I didn’t think that there was a third, more nefarious reason for him not wanting to wear a wedding ring.
Read Next: Should private school VAT be abolished? Four parents battle it out
We ended up striking a deal – he did not have to wear one, but I would wear an additional ring “for him”. It was one of my more shrewd life moments, when I saw that a good middle ground was to just reallocate funds from his fingers to mine. I’d like to think that my acquiescence cannot be bought, but clearly – it can.
On our wedding day , it felt slightly one-sided to be handed two rings and not pass anything his way, but it was such a small part of the ceremony that it didn’t feel particularly momentous.
While his family didn’t bat an eyelash, knowing his views on the subject quite thoroughly, mine were more wary when they heard the news. My father questioned us about it several times, my uncle seemed slightly befuddled, and my step-grandmother asked, “bBt how will anyone know that he’s married ?” – which, to be fair, was a question that I’d also asked.
My friends were less suspicious, knowing my husband to be relatively trustworthy, and I found that they were mostly just excited by the concept of acquiring additional jewellery on his “behalf”. “Perhaps I could do that?” a few of them whispered.
It seemed to me that the biggest loss I felt about my husband not wearing a ring was the symbol of our partnership – as though the bands were walkie-talkies that required two for them to work. By him not wearing one, it felt, somehow, like mine was null and void – as if it were a pairless shoe. But, the more I mulled it over, the more I realised that a metal band is hardly indicative of a strong bond or a healthy marriage. If people want to cheat, a ring can be easily removed, and wearing one doesn’t make you immune to unhappiness.
Ultimately, after the initial shock that my husband could just not wear a ring , it’s not really been something that’s ever entered my mind again. While I’ve seen his fingers every day for almost five years now, it never registers with me that anything is missing.
We have, as far as I can tell, a good relationship and a strong union, and one of the reasons that I love him is because of his slightly strange views on things. Also, given that I have been adamant about my own, oddly specific things like painting the living room pink and believing in ghosts, it would be unfair not to make room for some of his strongly held beliefs.
Now, if anything, I’m beginning to come around to his point of view. More and more, when I see married men and cast an eye to their ring choice, I find myself faced with some questionable jewellery selections. Perhaps, the world could, actually, do with one or two less bedazzled husbands.
Comments
Post a Comment