Double Critique from the Formerly Single.

Me and Bashir preparing to jump the broom.

At last! I can cast aside my obsessions with color schemes and caterers.

For three months, on top of dealing with wedding planning, which can be enjoyable (if you're into emotional S&M),  I've been examining and questioning marriage customs of East and West. I'd been hoping to avoid the overblown, highly tense events I've suffered more than my fair share of in the past. In my research on wedding customs, it's become clear that American Muslims have two sets of cultural baggage- which can mean twice as much garbage- but also twice as much treasure.

We dispensed with blind following of tradition generally, which resulted in an event that bore only faint resemblances to current templates. I declined to wear white, instead drawing from the spirit of Queen Victoria's decision, choosing to wear what I liked best, just as she did. I dumped the idea of bridesmaids, as well as a bouquet and that dreadful cake smashing thing. So to most of the non-Muslim guests, it was highly unusual- but the Muslim guests couldn't provide much help, as it was equally strange to them.

Entering the function hall as a couple, without fanfare, eliminated two troubling aspects of weddings for me: the "giving away" and the presentation of the bride. There seems to be a packaging of the bride that occurs in many cultures; distinct from the desire to please one's beloved by beautifying oneself, brides are pushed to adorn oneself in ways that conform more to cultural expectations of a bride rather than the desires of and for one's spouse. This includes, in Muslim and non-Muslim cultures, uncomfortable attire and excessive jewelry that may or may not flatter the bride's individual features, and professional makeup sessions, which seem to involve plastering one's face over and painting a new one on. (Laury, let me know how I did with the makeup.) I was pressed to have my makeup done in this manner, and to pluck my rather full eyebrows into a more conventional shape, despite Bashir's appreciation for my brows. We were both glad I resisted.

Following our unorthodox beginning was the welcome and khutbah, which was in rather standard format, with one unusual touch: Our wedding was officiated by Dr. Kecia Ali. Few guests, Muslim and non-Muslim, had attended a wedding officiated by a woman. I did not ask her to officiate because it was unusual: I asked her because she was, by far, the best person for the job. Of the many anxieties I had about the wedding planning, they did not include Kecia failing to fulfill her function beautifully. Her sermon nearly brought me to tears; it would have if I hadn't considered my makeup. (Hey, I am the Fashion Mujahid.) She and her family were a delight; I couldn't imagine having my wedding without them.

Bashir and I had decided that would act on our own behalf: with several years of living independently, it seemed preposterous for either one of us to suddenly require someone to play a parental role. That did not stop the comments that I was being "handed over" to Bashir (by someone who's Jewish) or objections that I was not being "given away", instead choosing to enter the function hall holding the hand of the man that I love and chose to marry of my own accord. I also made the offer of marriage myself, not as a rejection of the role my parents played, but as an acknowledgment of their accomplishment: they had raised a daughter capable of making this step on her own.

A wedding moment that I will always treasure is the first witness signing the contract. It was a marvelous sign of the possibilities that American Islam has to offer, seeing a very young lady sign the marriage contract with her newly-learned cursive writing, then pass it on for all present to sign after her. Her gender alone would be enough to deny her a chance to be a witness at many Muslim weddings; the fact that she had a dozen co-witnesses was an expression of our desire to break with bad customs, but I will always be proud of the fact that she was the first. I hope her parents are too.

Familiar to anyone who's watched "Roots", we decided to jump the broom. Bashir and I are both blackAmerican, and we wanted to honor our enslaved ancestors, for whom jumping the broom was the only marriage ceremony to which they had access, which marked a union unprotected by the larger society. Dr. Omar Abdul-Malik explained this custom before the jump, and the element of competition introduced by slave masters, who would either judge the one destined to be dominant as the one who jumped higher or farther. Fudge that. As according to custom, a friend of mine declared it a tie, and we went to go eat.

It became clear to me that for Western Muslims, double critique cannot be merely an academic exercise, nor should it be limited to politics and law. The way in which we are in the world depends on examining differing ways of being and making conscious choices in every aspect of our lives. There is no American Muslim cultural default, which means that there is greater opportunity to re-examine the customs and traditions that we were raised with, as well as those from abroad, that may be pressed on us by those eager to see reflections of their own homelands here.  As the choices we make should be made with moral beauty and justice in mind, where others may follow a set program where they suspend their own judgement, Western Muslims must forge their own path, with the ultimate destination in mind with every step.