And then, weddings.

I had heard that Thanksgiving is a traditional day to get married in Chinatown. It’s the one day in the American calendar of holidays when pretty much everybody can get the day off. So, in a parallel tradition to most everyone else in America, the holiday has become a time for immigrant families to gather and celebrate young couples. (And young they are – everyone I photographed this past Thanksgiving seemed to be in their early twenties.)

Beginning in the morning, sidewalks are bustling with preparations. Much of the day plays out very publicly, with a couple’s entourage of friends milling about outside of the beauty parlor, chatting, smoking, waiting for everyone to be styled and ready. Official portraits outside the banquet halls advertise which couple is getting married inside, often competing for attention, as restaurants are booked back-to-back in three shifts; larger halls will have several weddings going at once, with the parties’ amplified announcements and music straining to outdo their neighbors’ to the other side of the dividing screens. And, as soon as the last lingering guests have cleared the hall, carrying home their bags of food and canola oil, the restaurant staff jumps into action to prep the place for the next celebration.

One thing I hadn’t expected somehow was that most of the people getting married that day weren’t actual New Yorkers. In fact, the couples and families in these pictures had come from Harrisburg, PA and Ironwood, MI, from upstate NY and New Jersey, and from as far as Atlanta and Colorado. When asked why they chose to get married in NYC, their answers didn’t just touch on the practical matter of having a plethora of services catering to them in their native language, but also hinted at the more elusive concept of home. Being in Chinatown reminded them of their life in China – the shops, the streets, the restaurants. And that, as much as finding the perfectly decorated wedding hall, is what matters in the end.