I Get to Make Love Movies (And I Don’t Take That Lightly)

I’m going to be honest: I feel very lucky.

I’ve found success in the wedding industry making films of people’s love stories, and the more time I spend doing it, the more I realize how rare that is. When I really stop and consider what a privilege it is to be invited into the most important day of someone’s life — and not just as a vendor, but as a quiet witness — I’m in awe.

There’s a version of me that still can’t believe this is real work.

Because it’s not just “a wedding.” It’s two people choosing each other in public. It’s families trying their best. It’s friends showing up as the loudest possible proof that love is real. And often, it’s cultural traditions and rituals I never would’ve experienced firsthand if this job didn’t place me right in the middle of them — close enough to feel the weight of them, the meaning of them, and the way they connect generations.

And then somehow, I’m the one responsible for turning all of that into an heirloom.

That part hits me.

The Industry Is… A Lot. And Also Beautiful.

Let’s also be real: as an industry, weddings can be a little cringe sometimes.

They can be tacky. They can be over-the-top. They can come with strange characters and stranger expectations. You can end up around energy that feels performative, or traditions that are done because they’re “supposed to be,” not because anyone actually wants them.

But at the same time — and I mean this — weddings are one of the most ethical things you can choose to make as art.

They only bring joy and love (even when it’s messy). They only gain value over time. They become the thing people go back to decades later when they’re trying to remember who they were, what it felt like, who was still alive, and why they chose each other in the first place.

I’ve seen it. I’ve watched people cry watching themselves from ten years ago.

It makes you careful. It makes you grateful. It makes you want to do it properly.

The Quiet Goal I’ve Always Had

One thing I’ve been able to do in all of this is maintain the goal I set at the beginning:

To stay sharp.

To be well-practiced and up to date with filmmaking software and equipment. To keep learning. To keep refining. To keep sharpening the blade.

Maybe it’s the ballerina in me that needs to always be practicing.

But I really do go through each of these shoots like training. I’m watching light. I’m watching movement. I’m watching energy. I’m trying to anticipate emotions before they happen. I’m trying to make something that feels like the truth — not a montage of poses, but something that actually breathes.

And yes, sometimes I’m literally being paid to go through “delightful answering machine messages” (which is a thing that happens on wedding days more than you’d think), and I’ll cry and cry behind the camera and then turn around and act like I didn’t.

Because it’s not about me.

But it still gets me.

Why We Tell Wedding Stories in Acts

At Gauche, I often break wedding films into three acts. It’s not because I’m trying to be pretentious (although maybe I am a little). It’s because weddings naturally move like a narrative.

Act 1 is anticipation. The building. The getting ready. The nerves. The first time you see yourself in the mirror and realize it’s happening today.

Act 2 is the heart. The vows. The ceremony. The moment everything becomes real and official and irreversible in the best way.

Act 3 is release. Party. Chaos. Joy. The body finally catching up to the emotion. Dancing like your ancestors are watching. The final proof that you did it — you made it to the other side.

And honestly? Act 2 is usually where I fall in love with the film.

Because it’s when people stop performing and start feeling.

For Now, I’m Peddling Love Movies

The world is in need of love.

That sounds dramatic, but I mean it. There’s enough cynicism. Enough irony. Enough distance. Enough scrolling. Enough people afraid to be earnest.

Wedding films are earnest by nature. They’re literally a document of someone believing in something.

So while I decide what my artist form of resistance is going to be in the long run… for now, I’m going to keep peddling love movies.

And I really do love this one.

This is Act 2 of a very lovely composition involving the radiant Becca and a very handsome Steve.

I’m proud of it. I’m grateful I got to witness it. And I hope when they’re old, and the world is louder and faster than they remember, they can press play and be brought right back to the feeling.

That’s the job.

That’s the privilege.

And honestly?

I still can’t believe I get to do it.