Love, commitment and the law

Across Britain, an intriguing social reversal is emerging. Legal marriages are quietly declining, while glamorous weddings in spectacular locations are booming.

The marquees are larger, the stationery more elaborate, and the florists seem to be single-handedly sustaining the economy. Yet for a growing number of couples, all this culminates not in a legally binding marriage but in a beautifully choreographed ceremony with no legal effect whatsoever.

In short, the wedding is flourishing; the marriage is becoming optional. Society appears to have decided that the celebration matters more than the paperwork.

For centuries, marriage was the social and legal cornerstone of adult life. Love might have been unpredictable, but marriage provided certainty: certainty about property, inheritance, next-of-kin status and family identity. Children born ‘out of wedlock’ faced social stigma, while marriage established paternity and provided women with essential economic security. No longer. Cohabitation has become entirely respectable and now performs many of marriage’s traditional functions. Couples buy homes, raise children and acquire Labradors without feeling any urgency to involve either Church or State.

The concept of the ‘common-law spouse’ remains one of Britain’s most successful legal myths. Like the Loch Ness Monster, everyone seems convinced it exists despite persistent evidence to the contrary.

Despite the warnings of family lawyers, marriage has shifted from being the default setting to merely one option among many. Part of the reason is that the legal side of marriage is difficult to make glamorous and, in an age when women are increasingly financially independent, often appears less immediately relevant.

The law concerns itself with pension rights, inheritance, tax treatment and financial remedies. Important, certainly. Instagrammable, less so.

Meanwhile, the wedding industry offers violinists emerging from woodland clearings, personalised cocktails and photographs that make every couple look as though they have wandered out of a Netflix adaptation of Brideshead Revisited. A vineyard ceremony can deliver all the emotional symbolism of a traditional wedding while leaving the legal position entirely untouched.

The economics are equally revealing. Young couples face house prices that Dickens might have described as cruel fiction, student debt that refuses to die and childcare costs capable of inducing palpitations in otherwise robust individuals. Against this backdrop, many focus their spending on the occasion rather than the institution. The irony, of course, is that the legal marriage itself is often among the least expensive elements of the enterprise. Couples can spend thousands on peonies while neglecting legal protections that may later prove invaluable.

The modern wedding has become an exercise in curation. Couples want ceremonies that reflect their personalities rather than statutory requirements. They want vineyard weddings, beach weddings, woodland weddings and occasionally weddings in locations that appear accessible only by helicopter. The law, meanwhile, remains stubbornly interested in authorised venues, formalities and registration.

Little wonder that many couples divide the process into two acts: a brief registry office appointment attended by two witnesses and perhaps a mildly confused parent, followed weeks later by the ‘real wedding’ complete with speeches, champagne towers and sufficient flowers to challenge Kew Gardens. One increasingly suspects that the legal marriage has become the support act rather than the headline performer.

Hovering politely over these choices is the spectre of divorce. Modern couples are the first generation or so to have grown up surrounded by discussions of divorce settlements, financial claims and property disputes. Many have witnessed parental separations and navigate complex blended families. Against that background, a symbolic ceremony can seem an attractive compromise: all the romance, none of the perceived risk.

As a family lawyer, I can tell you there is no logic to this. Cohabiting couples can still find themselves embroiled in expensive disputes concerning property ownership, children and financial contributions. Relationships do not become legally simple merely because the couple skipped the marriage certificate. English law possesses the irritating habit of involving itself anyway.

If there is one defining feature of contemporary life, it is a preference for flexibility. People stream rather than buy, subscribe rather than commit, rent rather than own and curate rather than inherit.

Marriage, by contrast, remains reassuringly old-fashioned. It asks couples to make a public commitment whose very purpose is permanence. That notion can feel surprisingly radical in an age of endless choice. Many therefore seek something that appears to offer commitment without constraint: romance without regulation and symbolism without legal consequence.

There is, however, another twist. The Labour Party’s recent consultation paper proposes that cohabiting couples could acquire rights resembling those of married couples unless they actively opt out. Ironically, those seeking to avoid the consequences of marriage might find themselves subject to a version of them anyway. The proposals are intended to protect vulnerable cohabitants who have contributed to family life yet face financial hardship when relationships end. Nevertheless, not everyone relishes the prospect of consulting a lawyer simply to preserve their independence.

Even if such reforms never reach the statute book, remaining unmarried can still carry significant risks, particularly for the financially weaker partner. Marriage brings rights to inheritance, pension sharing, property adjustment and, where appropriate, spousal maintenance. These protections are not automatically available to cohabitants. An unmarried parent may obtain financial provision through the Children Act, but only for the benefit of the child and only for a limited period. Once the child reaches adulthood, the support often disappears, leaving the fairy tale ending looking rather less secure.

In short, marriage continues to offer significant legal advantages particularly if the couples’ financial status is unequal – it seeks to protect the weaker party: whether that vulnerability is due to caring for children or not having an income of their own. The middle aged and married, or middle aged and divorced generally urge the ‘young and in love’ to think carefully about their choices. If wealth is to be protected making marriage too financially risky, there is the option of a nuptial agreement. The advantage of a pre-nup is at the point when the relationship is working you can freely discuss what you think might be fair if it fails.

As a divorce lawyer, I would urge honest conversations about expectations – whether you decide to marry (or not). Concentrating on the wedding can deflect those difficult discussions which, if managed well, can strengthen a relationship. We know the fairy godmother was focussed on Cinderella’s dress, glittering slippers and just getting her to the ball. Helping to curate a life beyond the ‘happy ending’ was rather less of a priority. Yet for modern couples, that may be the more important task. Honest conversations about finances, expectations and what fairness looks like if things do not go to plan are rarely as exciting as choosing a venue or sampling the champagne, but they can provide the foundations for a stronger relationship.

After all, a wedding lasts a day; a marriage, or indeed a long-term partnership, is intended to last rather longer. In an age increasingly captivated by the performance of commitment, the real question may not be how we celebrate our relationships, but how we protect them once the confetti has settled.

This article was first published in Tatler in September 2026.