In a Galaxy Far Down the Street

Reporting from the Outskirts of Reason

Matrimony is a sacred bond best entered into with clear eyes, full hearts, and a lawyer on retainer.

But the folks at The Little Vegas Chapel—bless their entrepreneurial spirits—have taken it one parsec further with what they call Star Wars-themed weddings. Come May the 4th–a date chosen less for astrology and more for punnery–couples can now pledge eternal devotion under the solemn gaze of Princess Leia—or Darth Vader, depending on whether you prefer buns or breathing tubes.

The whole affair is “YODA One For Me,” which I presume is the kind of joke that gets a laugh after three mimosas and a heatstroke. For the bargain price of $860–or approximately one Ewok pelt and a kidney–you get roundtrip limo service—because nothing says “galactic romance” like sitting in traffic on the Strip.

The ceremony is peppered with Star Wars music, which I can only assume means someone presses play on “The Imperial March” while Grandpa weeps in the third pew. Symbolizing either the shifting nature of love or Anakin Skywalker’s dislike of the desert–you can include a Unity Sand Ceremony.

You’ll get a bouquet that looks like it bloomed on Tatooine, a boutonniere worthy of the Senate, while the whole production gets captured in video and photos, presumably with enough lens flare to blind a Jedi. And to top it off, they hand you a Star Wars-themed certificate—valid in neither court nor council—but perfect for framing next to your original VHS copies.

If you’re not ready to mortgage the Millennium Falcon for the deluxe package, you can opt for “Love Star” at $600. This version is slightly trimmed but still includes a bouquet, some lightsabers, and a podium that probably glows ominously. They provide a witness should your cousin Cheryl not make her flight, and phones are welcome because nothing says “I do,” like live-streaming to the guy who used to bully you in middle school.

As for me, I say let them have it. If a man wants to wear a Chewbacca mask while declaring his undying love to a woman in a polyester space bikini, who am I to stand in the way of destiny? It may not be the galaxy far, far away—but it’s at least a block past the pawn shop and two doors down from Elvis.

And truth be told, it’s probably just as well. After all, the course of true love never did run smooth, especially when your officiant is a Sith Lord and your marriage certificate glows in the dark. But if the Force is with them—and the air conditioning holds—the lovebirds might make it past the credits.