I DIY'd my own wedding flowers. here's what happened.
In 2018 I got married at Cactus Country in Strathmerton, regional Victoria. A cactus farm with Day of the Dead bunting, rattan chairs, and more colour per square metre than most eyeballs can handle. The theme was loosely South of the Border (a loving jibe at all our Sydney friends). The dress code was simple: wear colour, wear whatever you want, turn up in trainers if you like, just bring your energy.
My dress was custom made, inspired by something luxe and Colombian. Yellow, dramatic, not remotely traditional. The bridesmaids were in tonal reds — hot pink, burgundy, fire engine red — no matching, just a shared palette. The venue was already so visually strong that I didn't need to gild the lily with the styling. Cacti everywhere, bright surfaces, things hanging from every beam. I just needed flowers that felt like us.
So I did them myself.
the day before
I threw the dresses in the back of our tiny car, loaded up buckets of flowers, and drove to the venue. No recipe cards, no stem counts, no plan. I'd hit the flower markets earlier that week and just bought whatever I fell in love with.
That night before, alone in the Airbnb while the chaos of interstate family and friends swirled around me, I pulled out the flowers and made the bouquets in my pajamas. My own was the most showy — branches of orange azalea, flannel flowers, white carnations, white proteas. Sparse, unconventional, a little avant garde. Would I edit it back a bit now? Maybe. But I wrapped the stems in a piece of black silk velvet ribbon I'd picked up in New York, and it felt completely, ridiculously me.
Each bridesmaid got something different, matched to the tone of her dress — trailing amaranthus for one, tropical anthurium for another. There was a saturated, luxe colour story I was trying to tell, and every bouquet was a chapter of it.
In hindsight, I wish I'd made them with my bridal party around me. A few drinks, some music, everyone making something together. People want to help. Let them. That's something I tell every bride now.
the thing that went wrong
I'd planned these epic ceremony pieces — huge pampas grass urns flanking the aisle. They looked incredible. Then the wind picked up and we started worrying they'd blow over mid-vows. So we pulled them out and threw them into the reception area instead.
In the moment, it stung. I'd pictured that aisle a hundred times. But I reminded myself not to sweat the small stuff, and honestly — I barely remember it now. Looking at the photos, I can't even tell anything changed. Nobody else could either.
what I didn't do
I kept the tables minimal. Dried strawflowers scattered everywhere, nothing arranged, nothing fussy. The venue was doing the heavy lifting and I was on a budget. Every flower had to earn its place. My bridal bouquet doubled as the signing table arrangement — no separate piece needed. I let my sister handle the cake flowers and the buttonholes. Not everything had to be me.
what I'd tell a bride now
Have a vision and have fun with it. Focus on the big stuff. Don't sweat the details — especially with flowers. Do what feels like you and don't look back.
Were my bouquets technically perfect? Nope. Would I do it a little differently now, with several more weddings under my belt? Probably. But I wouldn't change a single thing about that day. Making things is what I love to do, and those flowers are one of my favourite things I've ever made.
That feeling... the pride of having done it yourself, when you step back and realise you actually pulled it off — is exactly why The Flower Source exists. I just want to make sure you've got a bit more support than I gave myself.
If you want to DIY your wedding flowers with a bit more structure than I had, have a look at our kits.