It took the world grinding to a halt for Lola Teller, 29, and Freddie Woodruff, 35, to get going. A mutual friend had set them up on a date in 2020, but with Lola studying in Edinburgh and Freddie building his catering business in London, geography got in the way. That is, until 12 months later, when lockdown found them separated by little more than a field in Boscastle, Cornwall, where Lola’s mother, fashion photographer and stylist Venetia Scott, owns a house, and Freddie was setting up a restaurant. “He used to come and cook for us every night, and a few weeks in, my mum was like, ‘Look, why don’t you come and live with us here?’” Lola says. “She was very fond of him, and I think she liked the food, so she was pushing.” What followed was an idyllic few months spent picking mussels on the beach and taking boats out into the Celtic Sea to catch lobsters. Eventually, though, it was time for Lola to begin her career in the art world – she is now director of the agenda-setting Bernheim gallery – and the couple moved in together in leafy north-west London. This time for good.

It was in July 2025 that Lola and Freddie got engaged, while staying at her family home on Hydra, where she has spent summers since childhood. “Fred decided he wanted to go on a hike at 4pm in the boiling heat, and I was like, ‘This is ridiculous, no way,’” she says. “Something must be going on.” With nerves and temperatures running high, they barely spoke on the way up, and Freddie almost lost the ring – a trio of east-to-west oval Sophie Breitmeyer diamonds – among the rocks. “We got to the top of the mountain, completely dehydrated, just as the sun was setting, when he told me to sit on a rock and got down on one knee,” she recalls. “And it was really quite beautiful.” From there, the would-be-weds jetted off to Es Cucons, a family-run hotel in northern Ibiza, where the owners, who had been welcoming Lola and her mother for years, offered to host their wedding. “They said, ‘We don’t usually do this, but how does 40 guests sound?’, and we were like, ‘...150?’” They settled on 90, returning to the hotel at Christmas, Easter and once more the following summer to finalise the plans.

There were even more visits – 10 in total – to Kensington-based bridal designer Phillipa Lepley to perfect the lace wedding dress, complete with corset, veil and train, and designed with the input of her mum. Having a mother behind some of ’s most memorable covers must have come in handy? “Throughout the process, she was making me try on these enormous poofs of dresses, which looked great but were never gonna be the one for me,” Lola says. “Often I’d be like, ‘I like this!’, and then Mum would be like, ‘...No.’ She’s always right, though.”

On the day, she paired the dress with white silk platform heels from “not a nice brand”, and diamond-and-pearl drop earrings borrowed from her stepmother Dovile Drizyte’s collection. She would walk down the aisle flanked by her mum and dad, Juergen Teller, though despite having two of fashion’s most directional photographers at her fingertips, still hired traditional wedding photographers to document the occasion. “Well, you want some of the classic shots,” she explains. “Plus, they wanted to enjoy themselves.” Indeed, Lola says Teller didn’t take “a single photo” throughout the weekend.

Which began with guests gathering for welcome cocktails among the fig and almond trees of the farmhouse hotel, before Lola, Freddie and their closest family members headed to Chiringuito Cala Xuclar for an intimate dinner of grilled fish on the beach. “I think I had an hour of sleep that night,” Lola says, “which might have been because we were drinking quite late, but also… the nerves.” The morning of the wedding began with Lola kicking Freddie out of their room, before setting off on an hour-long coastal walk with her mum and bridesmaids. Saunas and ice baths followed, as they took their time getting ready for the ceremony. Once laced into her dress, Lola made her way up the hillside to a secluded grove, where her Armani-clad groom was waiting. Flanked by her parents, she walked down the aisle to Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You”, though her entrance didn’t go entirely to plan. “It’s such a slow song, so it was really hard to time,” she says. “My veil got caught on a stone and nearly ripped my head off, which made it quite comical.” Following behind was a giddy procession of flower girls in La Coquetta dresses, among them her three-year-old sister, all walking at their own pace. “My 12-year-old goddaughter was sending me dresses that were, like, £500 each. Nice try.”

Lola’s uncle officiated the ceremony, which included a poem written by Freddie’s mother, a group singalong to Bob Marley’s “One Love” and Lola tossing her bouquet as the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle. “I was ready for a drink at that point,” she says. “It was time.” The couple joined their loved ones in the hotel gardens for canapés of padrón peppers, octopus skewers, croquettes and jamón, along with speeches and photographs, before everyone was ushered into a candlelit pergola for dinner, waving their napkins in the air to The Shapeshifters’ “Lola’s Theme”.

Dinner was served family-style: lamb chops, roast potatoes and Spanish salads, before Lola steeled herself to make a speech of her own. “I was petrified, about to burst into tears,” she says. “But after a few drinks, it was fine, and I’m so glad I did it.” The room then erupted into an impromptu rendition of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, giving Lola a chance to slip away and change into a beaded Clio Peppiatt minidress.

Back at the tables, a giant slab of tiramisu was wheeled in for the newlyweds to serve to their guests, who were in no hurry to move on. “I was like, ‘Guys, they’ve literally converted the yoga tent into a dancefloor.’” DJ Fiona Jane played Ibizan bangers until 12.30am, before the party spilled out around the swimming pool. “They were up till seven – the sign of a good wedding,” Lola says. “Freddie and I were asleep, luckily.”

The following morning was a slow one, with guests resurfacing in the afternoon for enormous pans of poolside paella – under mercifully cloudy skies, after days spent seeking refuge from the sun beneath parasols and behind fans – as friends of the couple took turns behind the decks. Lola wore a lace beach dress by Away That Day over a white bikini, before changing into a crochet Reformation number for one final hurrah at legendary nightlife institution Pikes. Well, the last official hurrah, anyway.

A handful of guests extended their stay, dropping in on the newlyweds at Atzaró Agroturismo Hotel – a 13-hectare farm-to-fork property where the tinkling of goats’ bells drifts over from neighbouring farms and chickens roam freely – for a few days of decompression before Lola returned to London for the annual art-world frenzy that is Frieze. “A lot of people say that they come back and they have loads of wedding blues, but I just didn’t; I was just so happy that everything went so perfectly,” she says. “The whole thing was surreal, just the best feeling, heaven. I’ve spent every day since looking at the photos and trying to relive the happiest memories with our favourite people.”