A Whirlwind Wedding Weekend in Las Vegas
The first time Paul Arnhold heard about his future husband, fashion designer Wes Gordon, it was in an email from a friend that read, well, “I just met your future husband.” (Such is the state of “fate” for the millennial generation: It doesn’t knock on your door so much as it slides into your inbox.) A subsequent drinks date at New York’s Standard hotel proved that she knew of what she spoke; the pair was soon inseparable.
Five years and one coparented cockapoo later, Paul proposed at the Hacienda de San Antonio. They spent a week celebrating at Cuixmala, and then the planning began. The only hitch? Organizing a ceremony that ticked all the boxes: fun, but classic, too—not too big, not too small, and anything but self-serious. “We interviewed what seemed like every wedding planner on both coasts, we conceived of every type of wedding imaginable, but nothing felt quite like us,” explained Paul. Rather than be pressured into a large affair that would take months, if not another year to plan and execute, “we just wanted to be married and to do something fun and memorable in the process.” They didn’t have to look far for a good example: Paul’s parents had been married in Las Vegas 35 years prior. “We figured that Las Vegas is as good a place as any to have a ridiculous, hilarious, and unforgettable 48 hours,” said Wes. The stage was set.
In April, their spin on save-the-dates went out: “We sent text messages to a handful of our closest friends and family and told them to clear the weekend of May 5— details would follow,” said Paul. (Most responses included thrilled-looking emoji, not least because it was the Friday after the Met Gala, which had kept one of the grooms and more than a few of the wedding guests busy.) The pair enlisted New York–based planner Jennifer Zabinski to help arrange the affair, with the edict of “a weekend getaway that feels like an informal party full of surprise twists and turns that embraces Vegas for what it is: over the top, loud, and fun.” Zabinski—who arranged personalized Pan Am–inspired plane tickets as invitations (dictating “Cirque du Paul and Wes/ Wear Your What Happens in Vegas Best”) and Elvis impersonators to escort guests to a waiting fleet of candy-colored vintage convertibles at the airport—delivered.
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And then fate struck again. Days before departure, Paul broke his foot while visiting a construction site in Brooklyn, landing him in a cast and on crutches. Wes, following through on his reputation as one of fashion’s better finds, turned a broken limb into an accessorizing opportunity: Dozens of embroidered patches and a little double-stick tape later, Paul’s cast was among the weekend’s best dressed.
The ceremony was held at sunset in a private courtyard at the Wynn hotel encircled by walls covered in flowering jasmine. Potted magnolia branches (a nod to Wes’s childhood in Atlanta) lined the space. The pair were walked down the aisle by their mothers, Diane Gordon and Jody Arnhold. Paul’s 95-year-old grandfather, Henry Arnhold, served as flower boy. The couple’s younger sisters, Julia Arnhold and Lindsay Gordon, became ordained for the occasion, marrying their brothers (“Not like that,” they teased the rows of seated guests) with a touching tag-team speech that was both heartfelt and hilarious in turn. The brand-new newlyweds’ clinch was interrupted only by a triumphant Elvis, who burst through the door after the ceremony had concluded, crooning “Viva Las Vegas” flanked by white marabou–clad showgirls who encouraged friends and family members (all gamely decked out in feathers, spangles, and sequins) to get up and groove along. It was, all agreed, an excellent first dance. (More would follow—after a three-course dinner, speeches, and a trio of enormous ice cream sundaes in lieu of a wedding cake—at a nightclub fete deejayed by David Guetta, this being Vegas, after all.)
On Saturday, guests repaired from the night before, taking lunch poolside, before trying their luck at the various games tables inside. That evening, dinner was held in the newlyweds’ suite, which had been transformed into a carnival, replete with enormous playing cards, giant mushrooms, funhouse mirrors, chess pieces, Greek busts, massive masks of the couple’s faces, a ceiling covered in black and white balloons, sword swallowers, contortionists, fortune tellers, magicians, and an electric violinist. Later, party buses (and one very accomplished pole dancer) brought partygoers to the Britney Spears concert. Sunday morning, all and sundry (sans Britney, regrettably) were ferried home with one last treat: airplane catering by In-N-Out Burger. Though the newlyweds’ summer plans are certain to be somewhat more demure in scope—Paris and Positano and long leisurely weekends at their farm in Connecticut—a lifetime of adoring friends and more adventures await. And you can bet the farm on that.
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