Lost (and Found) in Translation – Queer ‘Wedding-Engagement’ Tactics in Poland

Theoretical approaches to same-sex weddings and commitment ceremonies

Wedding ceremonies are sites for imagining and enacting forms of social intimacy other than normative marriage (Freeman, 2002). Scenarios of these public ceremonies are also affected by the complexity of global changes (i.e. COVID-19 pandemic forced many people to cancel, postpone, or downsize their ceremonies (Trepany, 2022)). Nevertheless, the Western/Global North heteronormative wedding script is a crucial point of reference. A heteronormative wedding script ¹ with its particular chrononormativity (Halberstam, 2005) order of events is usually based on two key elements. First, there is a proposal of one person (traditionally the man) to another (traditionally the woman) connected to offering an engagement ring and, if accepted, a promise of imminent marriage. Second, a wedding ceremony based on an exchange of vows and wedding rings in the company of close relatives and friends is usually carried out in elegant, gender-normative clothes.

When the Western LGBTQ communities have fought for same-sex marriage, theoretical debates around same-sex weddings and marriage revolved around the question of whether those ceremonies reproduce heteronormative conventions or subvert them (Hull, 2006; Kimport, 2013; Lewin, 1999; Manadori, 1998; Reczek et al., 2009). Kath Weston was the first to argue that same-sex weddings and commitment ceremonies are sites where authentic ritual confronts the need to reinvent and subvert the tradition. Weston (1995) pointed out that ‘kinship ideologies’ are incorporated and often redone by lesbian and gay families and create alternative categories and uncommon meanings that may subvert the normative. Many queer and feminist scholars anticipated that marriage equality would automatically mean the assimilation of queer communities into heteronormativity (Butler, 2011; Conrad, 2014; Duggan, 2002; Warner, 2000). However, others pointed out that queers are not immune to romantic dreams like archetypical weddings and marriages (Love, 2006).

Research on weddings, commitment ceremonies, and couple rituals

Sociological research in the West has demonstrated great potential in challenging heteronormative frameworks by creating innovative non-heterosexual marriage scripts (Bernstein, 2015; Fetner and Heath, 2016; Hull, 2006; Peel, 2015). Furthermore, researchers argue that reducing same-sex marriage to being either normative or subversive fails to describe fully the complexity of the phenomena (Bartholomay, 2018; Clarke et al., 2013; Green, 2010; Heaphy et al., 2013; Kimport, 2013; Lewin, 1999; Mamali and Stevens, 2020; Smart, 2008; Weeks et al., 2001). Abigail Ocobock (2018) contends that even though one of the legacies of marriage equality is that LGBTQ communities became less engaged in radical politics, it does not mean that they became normalised as some queer scholars (Duggan, 2002; Warner, 2000) anticipated. Adam Green (2010) claims that since LGBTQ people are dually socialised – on one hand to dominant marriage and kinship scripts, and sexual freedom and nontraditional gender relations on the other hand – they are keen to marry tradition and innovation while constructing their authentic wedding ceremonies/couple rituals. Below, I take a closer look at those works and conceptualisations that directly inspired my analysis by showing more nuanced ways of understanding scenarios and meanings produced by queer couple rituals. They were important points of reference in conducting a further analysis focused on a deeper understanding of the mechanisms behind wedding-engagement tactics.

In a pioneering ethnographic study by Ellen Lewin (1999), in the US, long before marriage equality, the informants stressed the significance of freedom in finding the formula of the ceremony. Lewin described the richness of wedding practices that combined heteronormative elements, such as typical wedding gendered clothes with aspects of queer culture, such as unisex or cross-gendered clothes, queer music band performances, or the usage of a rainbow theme. She demonstrated that same-sex weddings are rituals of accommodation and resistance where non-heterosexual people ‘reiterate values and beliefs, offer interpretations of their place in society and project notions about the way life ought to be’ (Lewin, 1999: s.240). Carol Smart’s (2008) research, undertaken two decades later when same-sex partnerships were possible in the UK, shows the types of same-sex ceremonies related to them regarding displaying and visibility. Smart suggested that publicly celebrating a civil partnership is often perceived as political. In the regular type of wedding, partners choose ordinary civil marriage, followed by a modest party. Thus, the most important for them was the acquired legal recognition. In the minimalist type of wedding, common, especially in long-term relationships, couples reject the social manifestation of their commitment. Finally, some performed religious or spiritual ceremonies, often involving uproarious demonstrative parties and open political statements. Research done by Lewin and Smart shows that the issue of politics, subversion, or normativity is only one of the dimensions through which you can look at wedding/engagement practices. LGBTQ couples borrow elements of the heteronormative script but they look for an original framework of such celebrations corresponding to the individual partners’ sensibilities and relationship trajectories. Smart’s and Lewin’s research suggest that for many non-heterosexual people, the wedding is a political act that may have certain consequences similar to other forms of public displays of affection (Stasińska, 2022).

Interestingly, in another UK-based study done before marriage equality (2014) and before same-sex partnerships were possible in the UK (2005), by Weeks et al. (2001), more public wedding or commitment ceremonies were perceived as ‘too heterosexual’ and normative. Informants cherished freedom and agency in constructing their couple rituals and balanced the seriousness and playfulness of the chosen practices. Couple rituals (i.e. small commitment ceremonies, exchanges of ‘wedding’ rings) symbolised their love and commitment. However, they were also an occasion to play with particular traditions and heteronormative conventions. The research of Weeks, Heaphy, and Donovan, and the following study, done by Clarke et al. (2013) right before the successful passage of the Marriage Act in the UK (2014) relate vividly to the issue of authenticity. A downside of the pursuit for authenticity and constructing rituals, according to, as Lewin previously described, ‘own interpretation of their (non-heterosexual) place in society and project notions about the way life ought to be’, is that informants often lacked the language to describe the nonheteronormative experience. Terms, such as marriage, same-sex partnership, commitment ceremonies, or honeymoon, were often perceived as inadequate to describe their practices. Moreover, informants in Clarke et al.’s (2013) study often downplayed the meaning of relationship celebrations due to their lack of legal recognition by saying it was ‘just a small symbolic ceremony’. Therefore, they distanced themselves from all forms of ‘showing off’ and manifestation typical for heterosexual wedding ceremonies (Clarke et al., 2013). This distancing resonates with their attitudes towards public displays of affection in social circumstances where LGBTQ people feel vulnerable due to homophobia and discrimination (Mizielińska, 2022; Stasińska, 2022).

Another study was done at a similar time in the UK by Heaphy et al. (2013) attunes to this particular vulnerability of couple rituals. The researchers argue that older generations of same-sex relationships have been excluded from mainstream markers of maturity and associated with denigrated, instead of enhanced, social status (Heaphy et al., 2013: 105). Thus, these generations often care about the social recognition of the couples’ ritual and avoid inviting families of origin or friends because they do not want to risk their close ones not accepting their invitation. Such a response can often signify a lack of acceptance and support for their relationship. Heaphy et al. (2013) importantly show how couple rituals, such as weddings are moments of vulnerability, risk, and potential exposure to symbolic violence. However, the researchers also point to the potential of disrupting the heterosexual relational imaginary by taking the risk of including others in co-creating new relational realities.

In the latest studies on personal life, researchers often use the bricolage approach (Carter and Duncan, 2018) to show how people build their lives through a bricolage of ‘tradition’ and ‘modern’, and how traditions are adapted, invented, and reinvented in their innovative family and intimate practices. In a recent study done a few years after the marriage equality was introduced in the UK (2014), Mamali and Stevens (2020) used the bricolage approach to analyse queer wedding rites. They argued that in the case of LGBTQ weddings undoing and redoing normative traditions are powerful forms of communication with the social context. According to them, LGBTQ couples engage with the heteronormative and highly gendered roles and traditions underpinning the rite, utilising ritual scripts and symbols as a form of currency in their display work. Since successful display work requires the guests’ correct reading of the ceremony (Carter and Duncan, 2018), they use traditional elements to ensure the marriage ceremony is read correctly. According to Mamali and Stevens (2020), it shows that even archetypical rituals are not fixed and static, and can have a transformative potential. However, it may also suggest that if a couple’s ritual cannot be read correctly, it may be better not to include friends and relatives. Their approach goes in line with the analysis of Mizielińska (2022), who argues that LGBTQ people in Poland use a culturally familiar script of marriage because they want to ‘create a sense of belonging to the larger family framework’ and, in this way, ‘protect and extend their kin ties’. Thus, as she claims, entering into ‘marriage’ or conducting similar couple rituals in Poland has contradictory meanings. It refutes the heteronormativity of marriage institution, even if it appears to strengthen it (Mizielińska 2022: 61).

The above-described studies demonstrated an emerging need to analyse the question of what is normative or subversive in wedding/engagement practices. However, there is a lack of nuanced and multidimensional analysis of queer wedding/engagement practices related to naming and temporality. I claim that it is also vital to see how these practices become tactics established in particular social and legal circumstances. In the following analysis, I aim to develop such an investigation of often very small, ordinary, and not normatively understood rituals, practices, and tactics.

The Polish context

Marriage has an immense value for Poles. For the heterosexual majority, marriage symbolises maturity and social status which is a key to understanding one’s relationship biography (Schmidt, 2016). Most weddings in Poland are conducted in the Catholic tradition, and only a minority are civil weddings performed by public officials. However, the newest research demonstrates that marriage is slowly losing relevance as a turning point (Buler and Pustułka, 2020). Marta Buler and Paula Pustułka argue that nowadays family ties relate less to the traditional hierarchies determined by older generations. According to them, resignation from relationship formalisation and favouring cohabitation indicates the waning role of the demonstrative function of getting married in Poland (Buler and Pustułka, 2020).

Nevertheless, Poles remain quite conservative regarding family life, that is, they do not accept adultery (in 2020, 69% assessed it negatively (Instytut Badań Zmian Społecznych, 2020)). However, they are more likely to accept divorce and cohabitation without marriage or sex before marriage (38% believe that divorce is unacceptable and 30% would say so about living together without marriage, and 20% about having sex before marriage). Poles are also quite romantic – most of them believe in love at first sight (62%) and that there is only one true love (50%) (Centrum Badania Opinii Społecznej, 2005).

Poland is also a family-centred nation. For most Poles, family is the most central value in their life (80%) (Centrum Badania Opinii Społecznej, 2019). The specific position of the Catholic Church in Poland profoundly influences the Polish mentality, as described above (Arcimowicz et al., 2014). The voice of the Catholic Church is very audible in public discourse considering social issues and family life (Arcimowicz et al., 2014; Mizielińska and Stasińska, 2017). For a long time, Polish governments (especially the present right-wing one) had respected the Church’s opinion while discussing possible reforms considering the well-being of minority groups or women (i.e. Poland has a very restrictive abortion law). In 2019, most Polish public opinion declared support for civil partnership for same-sex couples (56%) though only 41% for marriage equality (Ambroziak, 2019). In 2021, only 34% of Poles supported marriage equality (Centrum Badania Opinii Społecznej, 2021).

In 2022, Poland remains the biggest country in Europe without any legal regulations concerning same-sex partnerships. Since the current and previous governments were unwilling to grant any family rights to LGBTQ couples, their situation is very challenging and becomes more precarious every day. A substantial majority (87.2%) of LGBTQ people in Poland would like to register their same-sex relationships, and 69% would want to get married (Kampania Przeciw Homofobii, 2021). However, there is a scarcity of possibilities to legitimise the relationship. Some couples decide to regulate some issues legally using the few legal merits available (i.e. writing letters of authority used in various circumstances or dispositions in the case of death). Others (4% in 2021 (Kampania Przeciw Homofobii, 2021)) decided to legitimise their relationships abroad (although their union is not recognised by Polish law). Only 14% of non-heterosexual people formalised their relationship with a symbolic social act; 1% of them did it in presence of their family (Mizielińska et al., 2015) which meant: the exchange of rings, vows, engagement, and changing one’s surname to the partner’s surname. In rare cases, they also had humanist weddings (a ceremony organised by the Rationalists Society) or used the opportunity to have a religious wedding given by the Reformed Catholic Church (for this reason, the Church was delegalised by Zbigniew Ziobro, the homophobic Minister of Justice and Public Prosecutor General in 2020). Nevertheless, over 83% celebrate relationship anniversaries and other couple rituals (Mizielińska et al., 2015).

Data collection

The present article draws on the research data collected within a mixed-method and multi-method research project Families of Choice in Poland that investigated the diversity of new forms of non-heterosexual relationships and challenges they faced in Poland. The whole project consisted of the quantitative stage (on 3038 LGBTQ respondents) and five qualitative stages (discourse analysis, media case studies analysis, 53 individual biographical narrative interviews, and an ethnographic study on 21 families and 22 focus groups) (for a complete description of the whole methodology, see Mizielińska and Stasińska, 2021). In the following analysis, I concentrate on the results of two stages of the research: 53 in-depth individual biographical interviews (Schütze, n.d.; Wengraf, 2001) (here called ‘stage 1’) and a 1-month ethnographic study conducted with 21 families which consisted of participatory observation and several thematic interviews including in-depth photo-object elicitation (here called ‘stage 2’).

The biographical narrative interview started with an open question about the history of the relationship (Schütze, n.d.; Wengraf, 2001). During stage 1, it was used for individual interviews, whereas stage 2 was a method for couple’s interviews at the beginning of the 30-day ethnography. The technique encouraged the participants to disclose their everyday realities and, in effect, generated diverse stories about the relationships (Gabb and Fink, 2015). During the ethnographic study (stage 2), the couple was interviewed together or separately several times. The ‘interview on significant photos/objects’, a photo/object elicitation interview during the second week of the study, was particularly pertinent for the analysis connected to wedding/engagement practices. During the interview, partners chose five items or photos that ‘say something about a relationship’. Later, they were encouraged to tell stories connected to the selected pictures or objects. In the photo/object elicitation interviews, the image/object serves as a medium of meanings and emotions that cannot be reached using simple narrative techniques (Pink, 2009).

The wedding/engagement tactics and the topic of couple rituals sometimes emerged in both of the interviews (i.e. as an important moment in the history of the relationships) mentioned above, and sometimes only in one of them (i.e. a couple chose their tattoos as one of the five objects for the interview), or it was discovered during ethnographic, which shows the necessity of complex research plans to retrieve a multidimensional picture of a relationship (Mizielińska and Stasińska, 2021) and discuss unrecognised relational practices.

Data analysis

Qualitative stages were analysed within thematic coding rooted in grounded theory (Charmaz, 2006). The whole analytical approach was based on the frame story approach (Mizielińska and Stasińska, 2021). All interviews and research notes were anonymised (i.e. names and details from their biographical trajectory to avoid possible recognition), coded by software for qualitative and mix-methods analysis (MaxQda), and analysed thematically by the research team.

My analysis considered mostly the intimate life. In my book (Stasińska, 2018), I discussed how non-heterosexual people living in Poland understand and practice intimate life. I investigated several themes, that is, displaying affection, communication strategies, sexual life (Stasińska and Mizielińska, 2022), bodily practices, and intimate practices in the public sphere (Stasińska, 2022). The article advances one of these themes and also includes the latest scholarship on couple rituals. It refers to a more general claim that I make of the necessity of leaving behind the paradigm of ‘big’ sociological theories (i.e. Giddens’ (1993) ‘pure relationship’ and ‘disclosing intimacy’ and moving towards understanding intimacy through daily ‘intimate practices’ and ‘silent intimacy’ (Gabb, 2008; Jamieson, 1998), and through the lens of local geo-temporal conditions (Kulpa et al., 2012; Mizielińska, 2011, 2022; Stasińska, 2018). In my book, I claim that understanding intimate life is conditioned by various sociocultural circumstances and it may be practised differently in Poland than in the West.

Research sample

The research sample in all stages was as diverse as possible (considering gender, class, place of origin, etc.). Fifty-three adult participants took part in stage 1. Most of them were women (28) and 22 were men; two respondents identified as trans men, and one as trans women. More than a half of the participants raised children (20 women and eight men). Twenty-one non-heterosexual cisgender families (nine male and 12 female households, six families with children) took part in stage 2. Most informants were recruited from a more extensive sample of respondents (n = 3038) that participated in the quantitative research in the earlier stage of the research project. Some were additionally recruited using the snowball method. All interviewees were in same-sex relationships for more than a year regardless of their sexual identity (homosexual, bisexual, queer, or other).

In the beginning, was the word…

Many LGBTQ couples struggle to find adequate terminology to describe their intimate partners. While young couples often describe each other as a ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’, it becomes difficult to stay with this terminology with time and the growing level of commitment. They want to give status meaning to their relationship to show its maturity and importance as their intimate ties are not legally recognised and are often socially invisible or misread. Unfortunately, it is unclear when one chooses the term ‘partner’, often associated with the sphere of business rather than intimate relationships. Hence, many people decide they want to call themselves in certain safe displaying circumstances ‘husband’ or ‘wife’. Usually, it is used to mark the status and seriousness of the relationship, for example, ‘calling him my boyfriend sounds childish’ (Julian), or the intimate nature of the relationship. Nevertheless, the naming tactics is intertwined with the possible negative reaction of the social environment. The following fragment from the ethnographers’ journal shows how Julian and Mikołaj strategise their naming tactics:

Julian usually uses his first name, sometimes ‘my boyfriend’ when talking to people they decided to reveal themselves to. Mikołaj likes the phrase ‘my husband’ the most, but he cannot always afford using it because he thinks it is controversial. He considers ‘partner’ to be a safer term, although that, in turn, sounds too business-like and devoid of affection for him. (ethnographic report_ Mikołaj and Julian)

Other ethnographers observed similar naming tactics applied by their informants, who often struggle to find a good word to refer to their partners in the presence of others. Still, they noticed that the couples consciously reflected where and when they could use them. Only those ethnographers who accompanied couples who either got married abroad or deliberately aimed to subvert heteronormative order noted that their naming tactics purposefully included spousal nomenclature daily as in the following cases:

when they meet new people, Teodor and Marcel introduce each other by saying, ‘let me introduce my husband’ (16.11) (ethnographic report Teodor and Marcel)

The self-presentation of the relationship outside is dominated by assertive Kazimiera, who often dispels the doubts of newly met people by referring to her partner as ‘my wife’. (ethnographic_report_Kazimiera_Klara)

All the informants naming tactics were contextual and dynamic, which shows the vulnerability of LGBTQ people to symbolic (and also very real) violence due to the possibility of others questioning their right to be called spouses.

The dynamic character and ambiguity of the naming tactics are also visible when we look at some couples’ difficulties with defining their wedding/engagement practices. They do not call them weddings because they still hope that marriage will be possible in the future.

The following example shows how some rituals may become a complex battlefield for meanings, discourses, and traditions from different cultures. In this sense, it eludes any normative terminology. Kamil and Włodzimierz never used any specific term to describe their ritual. Instead, they said they just exchanged rings and vows. They also did not include any witnesses (friends or family). Kamil emphasises the importance of their vows and the ordinariness of the act itself:

We started searching for the rings together [. . .] We exchanged them without any special celebrations, we said a few words about why we wanted to wear these rings it was kind of like the American ‘vows’ [. . .] in Poland there is no such thing, it was ordinary, I don’t remember the exact words. (Kamil)

He also explains why the Polish tradition did not suit his imagination and sexual identity. According to him, the marital vows inscribed in the Polish wedding script are unauthentic and artificial. In Poland, one cannot change the wording of the vows when repeating after the registrar or priest. You can only add a few lines, but the main text traditionally refers to ‘starting a family’. Thus, Kamil and Włodzimierz consciously refer to a tradition, not the Polish but the American one – they feel the latter is more focused on the agency and subjectivity of the newlyweds.

Furthermore, they deliberately did not select gold wedding rings because of their heteronormative connotation (‘they are too straight’). Finally, Kamil emphasises the emotional dimension of their ritual, and the importance of the rings that remind them of their love during their separation from their partner when they miss each other. The developed wedding/engagement reflective and emotional aspect of their tactics is visible in the following interview excerpt with the couple:

We wanted to show everyone that we wear wedding rings [. . .] gold is too straight [. . .] We are used to it, these are some cheap silver wedding rings [. . .] When I was away, such a ring somehow made me not miss him so much, I could look at the wedding ring, and I knew that I would come home. [. . .] As a Polish gay couple, the only thing we can do is exchange rings. (Kamil)

A bricolage of meanings (Carter and Duncan, 2018; Mamali and Stevens, 2020) is present in the single act of exchanging rings. Kamil refers to the American tradition, and the stiffness of Polish structures of celebrations, he uses elements of both cultures to develop an authentic ritual. Their ritual is both non-normative and normative, but above all, it is tailored to their individual needs to create an authentic and emotional experience. Even though they argue that they wanted to show they have wedding rings, Kamil and Włodzimierz do not use the name ‘wedding’ to call their ritual because of a lack of legal recognition and adequate social reading of it and the sanctity of marriage in Polish culture.

Stuck in a time loop

Jack Halberstam (2005), who introduced the concept of ‘queer time’, argues that queerness is constituted by its difference from conventional imperatives of time and challenges chrononormativity and the conventional logics of development, maturity, and adulthood. Since Polish LGBTQ couples have been waiting for possible legislation change for at least 20 years, their couple rituals are performed in timelessness and resemble, as Halberstam calls, ‘time-warping experiences’. Many LGBTQ people, while waiting for political and social change, decide on spontaneous and casual rituals with plans to redo them in the future when some form of legislation is introduced.

In the beginning, Dorota and Marika got engaged/married by buying and exchanging wedding rings. However, after some time, they both stopped wearing the rings, so that, Dorota decided to propose to Marika, and bought her an engagement watch. In addition, Dorota mentioned that the act of giving the watch was far from any normative images:

We decided to buy identical wedding rings, of a more serious kind, [. . .] we wore them for a long time. However, we don’t wear them anymore because of my health problems, and because things have generally changed. I thought it would be nice to ask my partner again, in case of civil partnerships will go through or if there is a possibility of marrying somewhere abroad . . . if she still wanted to be my wife after all these years. Instead of a ring, she got a watch. (Dorota)

In the case of Dorota and Marika, the ritual was planned. However, the heteronormative script, which prescribes that engagement precedes wedding, was disrupted. If we use the normative terminology to describe this trajectory, Dorota and Marika first got married and then got engaged or renewed their vows. The partners have thus modified the chrononormativity of the traditional convention by scrambling the order of successive acts and changing the symbol of the act into something more suitable for them. Even though legally recognised relationships (regardless of gender and sexuality) may also make them renew their vows or replace one legal arrangement with another (i.e. civil partnership with marriage), in this case, the process of overwriting rituals did not happen because of any change in legal recognition. It seems as if the couple repeats the ritual in timelessness, creating their relation in ‘queer time’ (Halberstam, 2005), thus somehow stuck in the process of becoming a ‘serious couple’ in a normative sense. They cannot rely on any specific model or trajectory of relational rituals because they do not appear in public discourse in Poland and cannot rely on the law to change. Thus, in absence of social support, they feel as if they needed to remind themselves in what relational stage they are and symbolically reassure themselves of their love and commitment.

Spontaneous wedding-engagement practices are often carried out in a casual, relaxed atmosphere. The act itself is not necessarily preceded by plans made by the couple or any of the parties. In the case of Nora and Anna, who have been together for 4 years, it was Anna’s spontaneous idea to buy a ring. She proposed to Nora while the latter was washing the dishes. Nora explains that even though she regrets that the engagement was not more romantic, they decided to celebrate its anniversary yearly:

I was doing the dishes, and she came to me with a ring. She said, ‘Ok, Nora, now listen to me, I give you this ring because I love you, I want to be with you, and we can say now that we are engaged. We will be together forever for the rest of my life and so on’, but frankly speaking, for me it was not romantic. However, we celebrate [the anniversary]. (Nora, 20 yo)

Nora plans to ‘improve’ the engagement – when she makes some money, she wants to buy a ring for Anna, and propose to her more officially. Unfortunately, they both live in a very precarious situation and cannot afford it. Therefore, they celebrate the anniversary of the engagement that was available for them. In this case, conventional elements of a heteronormative script are used – the engagement ring and the fact that one of the parties (Anna) proposed. It can be argued that by making the ritual ordinary and improvised, the two women transcended the heteronormative model of a carefully planned and uniquely designed engagement ceremony. However, they still dream of a more romantic and socially and culturally recognised form of engagement and wedding. Since they cannot count on an imminent legislation change, they live in a time loop where they can only repeat the same act of engagement.

Both cases show the consequences of being legally and socially unrecognised as a couple. Stuck in timelessness, couples renew and reinvent their practices because no relational tactic concerning wedding/engagement has any progressive sense as nothing changes for better for LGBTQ people in Poland. Their relationships are not becoming legally recognised in any prospective future.

Hidden but eternal

Performing wedding/engagement practices does not necessarily entail displaying the relationship to the immediate surroundings nor any ‘progress’ in coming out. None of the informants decided to invite friends or family members to their couple rituals. It seems that it results, on one hand, from the hope that a legally sanctioned ritual would be possible. Then they would more certainly decide to include their families and friends, and on the other hand, from fear of lack of acceptance and support for a private ritual from their friends and/or families (Heaphy et al., 2013). Some couples develop wedding/engagement tactics performed so that their trace is neither completely visible nor thoroughly hidden, thanks to choosing a particular emblem or specific form that refers to their notion of eternal love.

For their wedding/engagement ritual, Irena and Dominika had identical tattoos depicting wolves made. They see the wolf as a very familial animal. The women did not tell the tattooist that the tattoos were a part of their wedding/engagement because they treated them as a personal symbol. They explain their understanding of the tattoos on important photos and objects in the following interview fragment:

Dominika: Wolves were as if an engagement, this would be our fifth object though it is hard to call it an object, it’s a part of the body.

Irena: We had once decided we would get similar or corresponding tattoos. [. . .] We decided together on the wolf. Dominika likes them. [. . .] We told the guy [the tattoist] that we would like wolves – a symbol of a familial animal. So no aggressors or anything [. . .] We did not tell him the story behind the project, but we asked for a tattoo of a wolf of a particular size [. . .] and that there will be two people with the same tattoos. (Irena and Dominika)

Irena and Dominika made a noticeable modification to the wedding/engagement ceremony. No typical ceremony took place, although undoubtedly, tattooing is a ritual of deep cultural roots (Turner, 1999). In this case, it was used to mark a particular moment in the biography of their relationship and a rite of passage. Les Back (2007) demonstrates that tattoos can be understood as a much more authentic and intuitive way of showing affection between partners or parental love than declarations of love. In the case of Irene and Dominika, it is a corporeal ‘act of illocutionary love’ (Back, 2007: 82). Given the risk of homophobic reactions, the tattoo may be an even more powerful symbol, since it is difficult to remove and also relatively easy to hide. It goes beyond legal constraints since it also, in its nature, symbolises an eternal bond.

Another example of referring to eternity without displaying the relationship is present in Paweł and Igor writing wills. The couple had been together for 11 years and wrote down their last wills in which they handed over their property to each other. Surprisingly, they did not plan it together. Igor did it first and informed Paweł of the fact afterwards. Since the consequences of this act are very serious, it may be perceived as a very romantic gesture. Paweł was surprised, but he decided to do the same. He mentions that even though their decisions were practical (to enable inheritance), they understand their wills symbolically as an agreement stating that they want to be together for the rest of their lives.

Consequently, Paweł feels as if they have been married already – he wants to be with his partner till ‘death do them part’, although the law does not recognise it yet. Interestingly enough, even though writing the wills was very important for them, Paweł does not remember the exact dates of the events, and they do not celebrate their anniversary. He tried to recollect the details in the following excerpt from an individual interview:

After three years, we wrote down our wills [. . .] almost simultaneously. I must say it was his initiative that surprised and troubled me, but then I realised that it was very reasonable because you never know [. . .] he wrote down his in a public notary office, and after a month I did it too. For me, these wills were something like a wedding [. . .]. This is the only possibility to protect ourselves somehow in the legal sense. It was a moment of cementing that relationship, wasn’t it? [. . .] after four years it was an important moment [. . .] He told me that he endowed all to me [. . .] it wasn’t a simple decision, he was sick, but it wasn’t anything serious, but I guess he felt in this danger, he felt he had to do it. Nevertheless, I also noticed it was a symbolic act for him too. (Paweł)

The men hide writing the wills from their families of origin because they fear the families might not support them in their decision. They rationalise it by saying they do not want to harm their loved ones though they want to protect themselves from symbolic violence. Even though they call their mothers supportive, Paweł and Igor did not want to risk the lack of their acceptance: ‘we thought this might be too shocking and unnecessary, it’s hard to say, we didn’t tell our beloved mothers who support us’. It can be argued that hiding the wills from relatives, which is not practical, serves as an emotional defensive mechanism and demonstrates their vulnerability.

Pawel and Igor’s engagement/wedding practices are interestingly situated also in the context of naming and temporality. On one hand, these practices seem like spontaneous acts of love, but on the other hand, they were also dictated by thoughtful and pragmatic decisions and the need to sort out property affairs. Both men wrote the wills, so that, it is more like a wedding than an engagement. However, it was initiated and carried out only by one of them, which resembles the engagement script. Furthermore, even though the practice was significant for them symbolically and practically, they never named the ritual in any particular term. They also do not remember the dates of these events and do not celebrate their anniversaries. It is probably so because the conclusion of notarial contracts or acts is not associated romantically with normative relational scripts.