"In my wedding, 300 guests were invited; we reserved one cow for the wedding meal; I wore a fine Benaroshi muslin saree and was given a lot of gold." Everyone must have heard this kind of memory from their mothers or aunties, stories that sparkle with nostalgia, luxury and pride. But behind those memories lies a changing truth; what once symbolised joy and community has evolved into a competitive display of wealth and social status.
In earlier times, a traditional Bangladeshi wedding included a few simple events such as gaye holud (the yellow night), the wedding ceremony, and a reception. Today, the influence of media and global wedding culture has transformed these intimate rituals into grand productions. Engagements, mehendi, sangeet, receptions, and even pre-wedding photoshoots have become essential parts of the package. Social media fuels this expansion; people share every detail, from shopping and jewellery to décor, make-up, and photography. If social media were absent, would the scale of the wedding business be the same? The wedding is no longer just a union of two people; it is a social performance, an exhibition of how much one can spend. Spending money in the name of luxury and uniqueness is framed as essential: "Marriage is special — nothing should be less." For wealthy families this may be affordable, but for those who are not rich, it becomes a serious burden.
Behind the glitter of bridal jewellery lies an invisible economy, one that thrives on social pressure, consumerism, and gender inequality. Wedding seasons generate massive spending on gold, beauty services, photography, clothing, event management, and social media promotions. Each layer of this industry profits from the cultural pressure to stage a "perfect wedding". The commercialisation of marriage feeds a cycle where emotional significance is replaced by financial performance. Couples are often evaluated not by their compatibility or love, but by the scale and spectacle of their ceremony.
For many families, especially those with daughters, financial anxiety begins long before the wedding. Parents start saving for years to buy gold or meet the unspoken expectations of the groom's family. The bride becomes symbolically associated with these material exchanges, her worth measured by what she brings rather than who she is. Such practices reinforce patriarchal ideas that treat women as economic liabilities rather than independent individuals. However, the burden of patriarchy does not fall on women alone. For grooms, too, the pressure to perform masculinity through wealth is immense. "The groom is giving seven vori of gold" has become a common boast, signalling financial strength and social respectability. Men are expected to provide costly jewellery, host lavish events, and project an image of prosperity that reinforces the same system that traps both women and men within rigid social roles.
The commercialisation of marriage feeds a cycle where emotional significance is replaced by financial performance. Couples are often evaluated not by their compatibility or love, but by the scale and spectacle of their ceremony.
This commodification is not just cultural; it reflects deep structural inequalities. When a family cannot meet the rising market of marriage, the social cost is humiliation, gossip, and stigma. In rural areas, poor families often fall into debt to arrange marriages for their daughters, while in urban areas, middle-class families struggle to keep up with the social media–driven trend of extravagant weddings. Platforms like Facebook and Instagram have further intensified this race, where weddings are curated to look glamorous and affluent, even if financed through loans or savings meant for education, housing, or healthcare.
Winter is considered the peak wedding season in Bangladesh, and each year, the spending only grows. According to data from the Bangladesh Jewellers Association (BAJUS), the price of 22-carat gold reached a record Tk 217,382 per bhori in mid-October 2025. Yet the social expectation to buy gold for weddings remains unchanged. Historically, gold has been tied to ideas of honour, security, and femininity. But today, it has become an economic weight many cannot bear.
Yet even simplicity has become a trend that demands money. Hiring photographers, stylists, or curated décor in the name of simplicity transforms modesty into yet another form of consumption. The irony is that even rejecting luxury has become a way of displaying taste.
The gold economy attached to marriage reveals the deep intersection between capitalism and patriarchy. The jewellery industry benefits from the fear of social shame and the desire for validation. Meanwhile, advertisements and television dramas continue to promote the idea that the bride is incomplete without gold, subtly teaching young women that adornment equals respect. What is being sold is not merely jewellery, but a fantasy of belonging and prestige.
The rise of "simple weddings", often portrayed as aesthetic and minimalist, appears to resist this culture of excess. Yet even simplicity has become a trend that demands money. Hiring photographers, stylists, or curated décor in the name of simplicity transforms modesty into yet another form of consumption. The irony is that even rejecting luxury has become a way of displaying taste.
Within this culture, the government's laws against dowries appear ineffective. Though dowry is formally prohibited under the Dowry Prohibition Act of 2018, implementation remains weak because the culture of "expectation" is socially justified rather than formally demanded. When gold is presented as "love", it becomes difficult to expose the coercion behind it. This blurred line between tradition and exploitation is what sustains the hidden economy of weddings, one that normalises unequal exchanges under the cover of celebration.
The gold economy attached to marriage reveals the deep intersection between capitalism and patriarchy. The jewellery industry benefits from the fear of social shame and the desire for validation. Meanwhile, advertisements and television dramas continue to promote the idea that the bride is incomplete without gold, subtly teaching young women that adornment equals respect. What is being sold is not merely jewellery, but a fantasy of belonging and prestige.
In rural Bangladesh, this system takes even harsher forms. Families sometimes borrow gold from relatives just to display it during a wedding, returning it afterwards to maintain social image. Others take loans to buy jewellery or pay for community feasts, driven by the fear of being judged. Among economically strained families, marrying daughters early is often seen as cheaper than educating them. Yet the costs of marriage, gold gifts, and constant obligations to the groom's family turn the wedding into a lifelong economic burden. Festivals and rituals such as Eid, Puja or Ramadan bring further pressures of gift-giving: new clothes, food — iftar items, pitha (sweets) in winter, fruits in summer, even goats during Eid-ul-Adha, deepening the inequality between families.
This cycle of material exchanges erodes the very essence of human connection. As social values become tied to material displays, our capacity for empathy and equality diminishes. Weddings should represent partnership, not performance; love, not luxury. What can be the alternative form of this materialistic trend? Any material we choose risks becoming another object of luxury. Perhaps the real shift lies not in replacing gold with something else, but in rethinking why we equate love and worth with material display at all.
Jobeda Akter Rini is an M.A. student in the Department of Sociology at South Asian University, New Delhi. She can be contacted at: [email protected]
Send your articles for Slow Reads to [email protected]. Check out our submission guidelines for details.
Comments