The embarrassing truth about public marriage proposals

Glenn Weiss used his Emmy award win to ask for his girlfriend's hand while on stage. Photo / Getty Images

Betrothals featuring grandiose gestures and adoring crowds were once reserved for Hollywood rom-coms, but a growing wave of public propositions proves they're no longer just for the silver screen. As last night's Emmy's proved, at which director Glenn Weiss used his awards win to ask for his girlfriend's hand while on stage, there is no end to public events being hijacked by teary men on bended knee.

Yet while we appear to be ensconced in the age of the en masse marriage request, ostentatious declarations of love don't always achieve the desired results, as Karen*, a deputy head-teacher, knows only too well. She was 22 when her then-boyfriend proposed in front of 100 friends in a church car park – a moment that, 15 years on, "still feels as harrowing as it did that day.

"We had discussed the kind of engagement I wanted – something low key over a quiet dinner, just between the two of us," she recalls. "Seeing Marcus* get down on one knee in front of so many people came as a complete shock: I ran and hid behind a car, wondering what the hell was going on. I felt no elation, just a sense of sickness washing over me."

And so while the world gushed over Qin Kai's proposal to fellow Chinese diver He Zi on the medals podium at the Rio Olympics in 2016, or Idris Elba asking for his girlfriend's hand at a screening of his film earlier this year, Karen does not see the romantic side.

"Watching Kai produce that ring showed just how little choice stunts like that give a woman," she explains. "It holds you over a barrel, where you have no option but to say yes." Zi did - somewhat awkwardly - before describing her feelings during that moment in a later interview as "complicated."

So much for Hollywood romance.

That Olympics proved to be something of a turning point for public proposals, with five couples sharing with awaiting crowds their decision to tie the knot. It all started with stadium manager Marjorie Enya, who asked for her Brazilian rugby player girlfriend's hand amid the illumination of numerous camera flashbulbs, then came Kai's mid-podium weep-fest.

Followed by British dressage rider Charlotte Dujardin's partner, who sported a sign reading 'Can we get married now?' as she competed for her third gold medal, U.S. triple jumper Will Haye, who raced to the stands immediately after winning silver to propose to his hurdler girlfriend and Tom Bosworth, a race walker for Team GB who asked for his other half's hand on the Copacabana beach – from where he swiftly posted a picture of their union, natch – it feels as though proposing might well become an Olympic sport come Tokyo 2020.

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Though her own moment came without the added horror of being broadcast to millions worldwide, remembering the frenzied anticipation of a waiting crowd still leaves Karen cold. Friends quickly retrieved her from her hiding spot and hauled her back to her waiting would-be-groom, who was still perched on one knee. "I said yes, like I knew I had to, as that was all everyone wanted to hear."

When Marcus dropped her home that night, they argued: "He was embarrassed that I'd left him waiting there like an idiot. I was so confused by the whole thing that I ended up apologising for being upset by what had happened – even though it had all come about because of a public proposal I had made clear I would never want."

They had thought a prompt marriage would help to conceal the fact they had been ignoring their church's insistence on abstaining from sex out of wedlock, but the pressure of rushed nuptials coupled with the shock of the engagement only propelled the relationship into decline. "We married a year later, my legs heavy as I walked down the aisle. I knew it was a mistake, but just didn't have the strength of character to back out – I felt like calling things off would be the end of the world."

After a "sexless honeymoon," the pair split after 18 months of marriage.

For Karen, "that awful proposal" was the beginning of the end; a sign that her partner was "all about show, and what people would say."

Daisy Amodio, however, disagrees. Co-founder of The Proposers, a service that plans bespoke engagements, she has orchestrated 850 in the past four years – half of which have taken place in front of a group. "Wanting to shout your love from the rooftops is an amazing thing," she says, "and the people there always love watching someone get down on one knee."

She has arranged everything from flash mobs in Times Square to a £135k celebrity extravaganza in a cave in Monaco: her next charge involves flying to Switzerland for an elaborate set-up in the mountains.

Not all of The Proposers' fares are so extravagant, but an increasing number are scheduled to take place in front of others. From Kanye West's proposal to Kim Kardashian in a stadium filled with candles and a 50-piece orchestra to ex-Wasps rugby player Garth Chamberlain's opulent turn on an Italian island, our "celebrity obsession" – as well as the dominance of social media in our lives – is driving the trend.

"People want the amazing proposals they see on Instagram – even if they only have a tiny budget," Amodio explains. She finds that the biggest difference in style comes down to whether the person popping the question is male or female: "Girls want to do something super meaningful but not too expensive; guys are a lot more extravagant because they want to have something to impress their mates with."

For her part, Amodio had a private engagement in her own home – something Karen also had the luxury of second time around. "When I decided to get married again, there was none of the nonsense of the first engagement – I'd told my new partner all about it, and he found it hilarious because it's the last thing he'd ever do. We'd picked out the ring together and he proposed at dinner – it was brilliant."

The pair decided to forgo a traditional wedding in favour of eloping in San Francisco and embarking on a three-week honeymoon instead – an experience that rouses far fonder memories than that night in the car park 15 years ago.

"Sometimes I think I married my second husband because he's the complete antithesis to my first," she chuckles. "If you love someone and want to marry them, it shouldn't take a public platform to show them that."

*Names have been changed