When, in the midst of lockdown in 2020, I swiped right on the cutest guy I have ever seen on or off the dating app BLK. At the time, I didn’t have any expectations of finding true love. “Me, falling in love?” I would say to myself. “Absolutely not. I cannot think of such luxury in this phase of my life.” Truthfully, as a Latine immigrant, I worried about what it would look like if I romantically pursued a U.S. citizen.
After four years in the United States as an international student on an F-1 visa, I wanted to avoid the biggest stereotype upon graduation: the my-visa-is-about-to-expire-hence-marriage-is-the-solution pipeline. But I’ve come to realize there’s nothing wrong with people following this path, whether they marry for love as I did or wed solely for papers.
At that time, I was single and not thinking of exploring a romantic relationship, let alone being with someone to obtain a green card. I was very much in my Hot Girl Summer phase, post-undergrad edition. Instead of a man, I was fervently looking for a job.
“After four years in the United States as an international student on an F-1 visa, I wanted to avoid the biggest stereotype upon graduation: the my-visa-is-about-to-expire-hence-marriage-is-the-solution pipeline. But I’ve come to realize there’s nothing wrong with people following this path, whether they marry for love as I did or wed solely for papers.”
Giulia Baldini
After a series of college-aged romantic adventures, the last thing I wanted was to risk falling in love, knowing my immigration status would loom over us. Since I potentially had to return to Italy, where I was born, or go to Brazil, where most of my family members reside, I made plans to leave for Brazil in case I didn’t get my Optional Practical Training (OPT), a temporary permission, approved. But life had other plans for me.
As I awaited news on my OPT application, I started downloading a bunch of dating apps out of boredom, wanting to experience the dopamine of swiping left and right. After all, no matter my legal status, I was just a girl confined to a college campus with barely three people on my floor. Coming from a warm, community-focused and family-oriented culture, I wanted to connect with people somehow.
For months, Brian, that handsome man I swiped right for, and I exchanged texts, FaceTime calls, and likes on Instagram. Once I moved out of the university campus, right after graduation, we had the chance to hang out more frequently. We started as friends, with skateboarding dates in Hoboken, New Jersey; grocery shopping in Jersey City; movie nights in Manhattan; and listening to music while cuddling and nose-kissing in Prospect Park.
“I married an American citizen for love, but it didn’t take me long to hear unsolicited comments about my union.”
Giulia Baldini
We lived every day in the moment, while around us the world seemed to fall to pieces. In that hopeless global climate, however, love was in the air, and we made it official in August 2020. Four years later, on Cinco de Mayo, we tied the knot.
I married a U.S. citizen for love, but it didn’t take me long to hear unsolicited comments about my union. At work, while hanging with American friends and during casual encounters with fellow immigrant acquaintances, I heard comments like, “You did the right thing,” followed by a wink. Or: “Now you can do whatever you want.” Their words stung. Is it that hard to believe I married for love and not paperwork? Do I look thirsty for a green card or U.S. citizenship? And what if I did? Would that make me a bad person?
The United States provides few paths toward citizenship for many immigrants, and it’s understandable why some seek to marry for papéis. Sometimes it is the only recourse they have. But just because this does happen doesn’t mean it’s the default arrangement. Not all Latines marry so they can adjust their status. We have nuanced stories and journeys. But at the same time, we shouldn’t vilify people who go down this route, ethically; we should instead criticize a system that makes it so difficult for people to remain and thrive in the United States.
“The United States provides few paths toward citizenship for many immigrants, and it’s understandable why some seek to marry for papéis.”
Giulia Baldini
For Samantha* from São Paulo, Brazil, marrying for papers was a way to ease the mental stress that comes with constantly trying to maintain your status. Samantha, who first worked as a nanny in Connecticut, spent years as a foreign student. She excelled and got a job. It seemed like everything was falling into place, but when the pandemic hit, she lost her role and her future in the U.S. became unclear. Panic set in. She consulted a lawyer, who advised her to re-enroll in school to buy time.
It was a burden, however. “It was so frustrating to me, having to pay more money to just maintain [my] status,” she tells Refinery29 Somos. Coupled with the fact that she couldn’t return home when she lost family members to COVID-19, it became too much to bear.
Her friend suggested she take the most obvious route: marry for papers. But Samantha, who always thought she’d get a green card on her “own merits,” was against the idea on a moral basis. Her friend told her she needed to reframe how she thought of the situation.
Without any other immediate solution, she learned of a woman who arranged marriages. Her services came with a $20,000 price tag. When she told an ex-turned-good friend about the distressing situation, he proposed. “Love wasn’t necessarily there,” she says. “Some of his friends were in favor [of doing] this, but not his therapist. When his therapist suggested to not proceed with the process of getting married with me, he said that whatever he was going through [was] nothing compared to my experience as an immigrant in the U.S., [and] how costly and mentally exhausting [it was].”
For Sara* from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, getting married to a friend is a way out of an abusive partnership. “I’ve been living in the U.S. since 2016,” she says. “I met my former partner at the gym. I was interested in him, and we started talking for a while at the gym. I then got pregnant on our first date.”
As she navigated parenthood, she felt alone. “His family wasn’t helping, and my family couldn’t visit me,” she says. “He was very distant and cold.” He eventually proposed and she accepted, thinking it could provide some safety for her. “After the engagement, it was even worse,” she adds. “He didn’t want me to work; he didn’t trust me with the finances. He kept making jokes about my accent.”
“Marrying and getting a green card changed the trajectory of my career.”
Giulia Baldini
Sara gave her relationship with her former partner several tries, for the sake of their baby. Despite the long months together, their love languages and cultural identities did not match. With minimal romance, respect, or care from her partner, Sara became vocal: “I plainly said to him that what we were having was not a relationship.” After leaving the relationship, she was able to reclaim her self-worth and seek the right people to be around — among them, a friend and U.S. citizen who wanted to help. She got a second marriage proposal, and she said yes. They’re not romantically in love, but it’s a gesture that comes from a place of love and safety, she explains.
While she waits to get married, she and her daughter are safe, living in New York with more possibilities than before. “After I realized that mine was an abusive relationship, I started attending supportive group meetings with other women who have been victims of similar abusive treatments,” Sara says. “I’m healing now, still in that process.”
That’s one thing adjusting your status can do. Marrying and getting a green card changed the trajectory of my career. While I cultivated and nurtured my writing in grad school, I didn’t have the ability to take on any job I wanted to pursue at my own pace. I also felt I had to be a certain kind of writer so that others would take me more seriously. Now that my immigration status isn’t what defines me, I am free to become the kind of writer and researcher — or anything else I dream up — that I want to be.
“If we have to marry — for love or just for papers — for everyone else to see the real us, then it’s clear that it’s the system that’s flawed.”
Giulia Baldini
Similarly for Samantha, getting a green card, a process that took a couple of years after she married her friend, let her lead a different life. “Keeping several visas before getting married changed fundamentally who I am,” she says. “I’ve always been independent and determined, but I am only now just learning how to get out of survival mode. I’m learning to do things that I enjoy, instead of just engaging with things that I must do just to survive.”
That can be easier said than done. The trauma of being an immigrant in the United States with limited opportunities doesn’t just disappear once you adjust your status. I sometimes still feel imposter syndrome for having everything I have, particularly the unconditional romantic love that has let me stay here. It’s hard to reconcile with the fact that, in the eyes of some, my worthiness is a direct result of finding love.
But we are enough just as we are. I didn’t suddenly become smarter, braver, and wealthier because I’m in a position to get a green card. If we have to marry — for love or just for papers — for everyone else to see the real us, then it’s clear that it’s the system that’s flawed.
*Editor’s note: The names of some sources were changed to protect their privacy.
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