Date: 25/08/25
Location: Mallorca

On a late-August afternoon in Mallorca, beneath shifting light and olive trees, Deborah Wangsaputri – co-founder of Rubber Time and founder of The Farm to Table Life – and her husband, Calvin, folded years of distance, devotion and shared rituals into a single, unhurried celebration. What followed a gathering shaped by architecture, music, bread, tennis courts and the slow pleasure of staying put.

“We’ve known each other since secondary school – and somehow kept finding our way back.

We’ve known each other for so long that it feels both simple and vast at once. Long distance shaped us early on, teaching patience, communication and a quieter kind of devotion.
There was no cinematic flash of certainty. It came gradually – a steady accumulation of trust, shared humour and the feeling of being understood even from far away. Eventually it became clear that, wherever we were in the world, we were always moving in the same direction.

He proposed while we were on our way to see orangutans.

We have a tradition of taking birthday trips together each year – usually centred around nature, time and what we jokingly call our ‘annual birthday cheese’.

This time we were in Indonesia, en route to see orangutans, when Calvin proposed. There was nothing staged or elaborate about it – just quiet, simple and deeply personal. It felt exactly like us. Something shared between the two of us before anyone else.

I wanted the wedding to feel like a place rather than a production.

I didn’t begin with colours or traditions – I began with architecture, light and the way a space feels when you inhabit it.

I’d discovered Neuendorf House years ago, back in my teenage internet-rabbit-hole era of saving images and references, long before a wedding was even on the horizon. When it suddenly became possible, everything else aligned naturally.
The mood was always meant to be restrained, warm and lived-in – honest rather than performative. A place where time could stretch, meals could run long and people could simply be present.

Music, travel and humour quietly shaped everything.

Travel has always informed how we move through the world, and the wedding felt like an extension of that – slow, attentive and rooted in place. Art and architecture guided the restraint of the setting, but I never wanted it to feel precious.

Music has always been instinctive for me. I love contrast – things that feel right rather than expected. Walking down the aisle to an orchestral version of Soulja Boy’s Kiss Me Thru the Phone felt just as natural as playing Piero Piccioni later in the day.

While getting ready I did my own makeup to a hip-hop playlist called Hippy Hoppy Happy – more pre-game energy than bridal nerves. Film has also shaped how I see timing and tone. I’m drawn to humour, pacing and moments that feel human rather than staged. That sensibility allowed the day to unfold organically – elegant, playful and quietly funny.

We planned the wedding ourselves – but left room for things to shift.

Having a clear visual direction from the start made the process feel intuitive rather than overwhelming – from reference decks to thinking about light, pacing and atmosphere.

Once the framework was set, I was happy to let things happen naturally. On the day itself we had coordinators to make sure everything ran smoothly, which meant we could actually inhabit the experience.

A friend once messaged me, ‘You’re really the art director of your life,’ which made me laugh – but it’s probably true. I care deeply about how things look and feel, while staying open to small, unplanned moments. That balance shaped the entire celebration.

It felt more like a gathering than an event.

The atmosphere was warm, relaxed and unforced. The day moved according to light and appetite rather than a strict timeline.

Guests drifted beneath olive trees, settled into conversations, lingered over long meals. There was a gentle hum everywhere – voices, clinking glasses, music floating quietly through the space as afternoon softened into evening.

It was intimate and grounding, designed to be experienced rather than performed.

My dresses were made by friends – which changed everything.

Both of my dresses were designed by my friend Veldon Salim, while Calvin’s suit was made by my friend Maya Kitagawa. Even though we now live scattered across the world, the process unfolded through long video calls and shared sketches that felt more like catching up than fittings.

For the ceremony I wanted something minimal but expressive – a knitted gown that moved with the body rather than sitting on top of it. The open back, framed by a soft drape and subtle gold hardware, became the focal point – elegant but easy, and sensual without trying too hard.

The veil was airy silk chiffon in a warmer cream tone, knotted gently around my head and trailing behind me in the breeze. It brought softness and drama in equal measure.

In the evening, I changed into a pleated white gown in double crepe, which shifted the mood gently from day to night while echoing the knit details of the first look. Both dresses were about freedom of movement – clothes that let you stay present.

Everything I wore was something I could live in afterwards.

I wore a vintage sapphire Cartier ring from the 1980s – technically after the ceremony – chosen for its rounded shape and reassuring weight. I like rings that layer intuitively, rather than matching perfectly.

My engagement ring sits alongside an antique Greek ring my Father gave me years ago – pieces gathered slowly rather than selected all at once. That thinking extended to shoes: beige mesh flats from The Row, comfortable enough to stand, wander and even play tennis in. Beige was also our guest dress code, which felt like a way of blending in rather than standing apart.

The sunglasses became an accidental motif – it was simply an extremely bright Mallorcan day. I wore a pair I’ve owned for years, not chosen specially for the wedding, just because they’re what I always reach for. Staying grounded mattered more than formality.

I made matcha for everyone before the ceremony.

Instead of a signature cocktail, I made matcha and cold-brew tea for friends who arrived early – a small ritual I call Café Bed (Deb spelt backwards).

Sharing it felt grounding, accompanied by my Hippy Hoppy Happy playlist humming in the background. Calm but energising.

The best part of the food was how slowly it arrived.

Canatoneta’s cooking is deeply seasonal and rooted in Mallorcan tradition. Everything tasted perfect – comforting, balanced, generous.

More than any single dish, the highlight was being able to sit down and actually eat together.

Instead of cutting a cake, we shared stacks of local cheeses with a vintage, baguette-shaped knife. The gesture returned the next day at a paella lunch, followed by tennis and a pool party – the same food reappearing, stretched across time.

What stayed with me was how easy it all felt.

It’s hard to isolate one moment. Walking down the aisle was surreal and joyful – but so was making matcha in the morning, eating slowly, playing tennis later.

The day never felt like a performance. It felt like a really good day with the people we love, stretched across time.

Bread replaced flowers – and became my favourite detail.

Not finalising florals gave me permission to stay open. That pause led me to researching Mallorcan bread, using loaves instead of arrangements. It brought warmth, texture and something human – meant to be touched and shared. Sometimes the best details come from not directing every frame.

If I had to describe it in three words?

Cosy. Playful. Intentional.

I wouldn’t relive a moment – I’d rather keep moving forward.

I’m grateful for how it unfolded. It felt complete, unforced and true to us.

Our wedding took place on 25 August 2025 – a playful nod to the idea that marriage isn’t quite 24/7, but something you show up for a little more than that.”