Why couldn’t my prom
kid be Molly Ringwald?

Robyn’s Hood
By Robyn McCloskey

Having attended a very small, private and fairly legalistic school in a somewhat rural area, I can tell you that the prom was not a priority to the administration.
Dancing was frowned upon by the administrators, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with all of them having two left feet. Anyhow, it was completely ruled out, which did not sit well with those of us who were not particularly legalistic or even rural.
We students who loved to dance complained and petitioned and whined to no avail. It was all very Footloose, except without the happy-go-lucky dance scene at the end and, much to my chagrin, no Kevin Bacon. It was what it was. Acceptance was hard to swallow. So was the chicken. Instead of an official prom where we could dance the night away, my classmates and I had to settle for a chicken dinner at a local restaurant.
The powers-that-be at school labeled it a banquet to pacify those who complained about the lack of a prom. Yes, I had a new dress and a date for that fowl occasion, but it was no memorable night on the town.
So here I am some twenty-odd years later and it’s another prom season, only this weekend marks my daughter Samantha’s junior prom. We’ve been down this prom road before; our oldest daughter Mallory went to more than her fair share, and her sister is following in her footsteps.
I have since learned that proms are big business in these non-legalistic, non-rural high schools. No chicken feed here. Just ask my husband, for he can attest that every time one of our girls attends these soirees the total cost is more than our wedding and honeymoon combined. I can attest that the prep work alone is equal to that of a wedding and honeymoon combined.
It all begins seemingly light years before the big night. From what I’ve been told, it is close to social suicide to show up at your prom with — gasp!! — pasty skin, thus the need to turn bronze with weekly tanning sessions. This coincides with booking all kinds of appointments — there’s the hairdresser, and the manicurist, and let’s not forget the makeup artist. Perhaps those bookings will one day include a psychiatrist, if only because you have to be out of your mind to shell out the bucks that such extravagance often requires.
The time slots for these various appointments fill up quickly — every girl, after all, is on the same quest — so book early. There’s also the important detail of finding a date for the evening, but the pressure of that is nowhere near the pressure of finding what every girl needs for the perfect prom.
The perfect dress.
Oh, the pressure! It starts by visiting every dress shop in every mall in the tri-state area — twice. You never know if they’ve received a new shipment since your last visit four hours earlier. Then it’s on to the overpriced and obscure boutiques tucked away in the nooks and crannies of sprawling Bucks County.
Over the years I’ve tried my hardest to convince my girls that it doesn’t matter what you wear, that you’ll have a time to remember even if the dress costs less than a monthly Audi payment. I’ve pointed out again and again how Molly Ringwald, in the movie Pretty in Pink, made her own prom gown. Sure, it was way too pink . . . come to think of it, it wasn’t at all pretty . . . OK, forget Pretty in Pink. They’ve never heard of Molly Ringwald anyway, or Pretty in Pink or any other movie that John Hughes has written, so the message is always lost on them.
I’ve even mentioned the relative ease and cost-effectiveness when the telekinetic Carrie (Sissy Spacek was spooky in that movie!) was able to procure a prom dress while under the repressive thumb of that nasty mom played by Piper Laurie. In her simple yet tasteful gown, she so captivated William Katt’s character that he kissed her right there on the dance floor. True, she ended up with a little splash of pig’s blood on it — high school boys can be such jerks — but I’m sure it washed right out.
I must admit that Carrie seems to have the same clout with my girls as Pretty in Pink. They are nothing if not persistent, and somehow they have always managed to find the perfect dress just in the nick of time.
Once the perfect dress is purchased, it is quickly followed by the search for the perfect shoes to accompany the perfect dress and ends with the search for the perfect jewelry to complement the perfect shoes and illuminate the perfect dress.
I think Cinderella had fewer obstacles to overcome. In fact, when I recall my own school days and that futile push for a prom, I’m almost willing to concede something all these years later.
Maybe a chicken dinner at a local restaurant isn’t such a bad idea after all. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net