Deb balls & bolo ties: high society in the heart of Texas

Last April I was faced with a difficult decision—to be, or not to be, a Dallas debutante. As the youngest of four, the only daughter, and a member of an old Texas family whose women had never before been invited, there was a lot of pressure from my mother to “come out.” Debutante balls have always been a signifier of entrance into high society. I consider myself a fairly laid-back girl, so you can imagine my surprise: debutante, me?

Having grown up with three older brothers, getting dolled up to walk down a runway in front of numerous Texas socialites wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. When presented with this possibility, I first went to my brothers for advice. It was no surprise that my mom wanted to see her baby girl in a white dress on the arm of her father, but I knew my brothers would give me unbiased advice. They couldn’t deny that the parties would probably be a lot of fun, but faced with the expense and the underlying misogyny of the tradition, they urged me not to debut. I believe my brother’s last words were “if you debut, I never want to hear you say anything about sexism ever.” And that was that.

For those of you aren’t familiar with debutante balls, the hefty fee for debuting can cost upwards of five figures. So, not just any girl come out as a lady into society, only those who can easily shell out the cash—in a recession no less! I could not justify spending over ten thousand dollars for one night and a white dress I will never wear again—somehow or other the money becomes a charitable donation, but that just doesn’t do it for me. Not to mention I did not feel too comfortable about being handed off by my father to a room full of potential suitors, a ritual reminiscent of the father giving away his daughter to the groom, except I’m not getting married anytime soon.

Now, debutante balls are by no means solely a Texas tradition; I would bet, however, that no one does it quite like the Republic of Texas. Last weekend I attended the Tyler Rose Festival—while not a debutante ball by definition, to my knowledge the premise is essentially the same. Big hair, faces caked with makeup, girls who would be presented as Duchesses and Ladies in Waiting doing the “Miss America” wave on floats—these are just a few of the things I witnessed  in Tyler. The girls began the process of getting dressed—no easy feat, for their costumes consist of headdresses, hoop skirts, and layers upon layers of beading—and then mounted their respective floats for the big parade through downtown Tyler. The parade concluded with the presentation of the young women, which is the common thread in any debutante ball. Although I myself was not a debutante, I was there last Saturday to witness my best friend being paraded down an aisle for hundreds of Southern socialites to see—A woman at last!

The original function of debutante balls, to introduce a young woman into society as an adult, seems on the surface to have lost relevance in our modern era. But one does not have to delve too deeply to find that this tradition still holds, underneath the façade of modernity. Nowadays, these debutantes are college-bound, educated—and yes, some even plan to have careers—but one cannot ignore the underlying messages of young ladies wearing white gloves in a long gown, bowing before an audience and walking down a runway hand-in-hand with an escort, arms outstretched. The presentation carries with it all sorts of implicit expectations—these girls are now acceptable young women for marriage, and these escorts are the kind of men these women should marry. Its not like all debutantes marry their escorts, but it is an opportunity for wealthy southerner parents to introduce their daughters to the kind of good ol’ boys that they hope will be their son-in-laws someday.

At the end of the day, most debutantes debut because their mothers or sisters were debutantes, and it is considered an honor to be asked to debut. Debutante balls exist due to time-honored tradition, not to propagate sexist values, though one cannot deny there is a certain inequality inherent in the notion of chivalry. My friend, for example, is by no means the stereotypical Southern belle, but she made her debut because it is a tradition in her family. Most of these girls stand backstage fidgeting with their dresses, praying they won’t trip on the runway, counting down the hours until they can wiggle out of their dress and throw on their oversized sorority t-shirts.

It is ultimately through tradition that identity is maintained, whether this identity be familial or southern. The difference then is one of expectation—the expectation to carry on tradition, to carry on identity. Ultimately, traditions of the past carry with them the good and the bad, and there arises a subtle tension between the old and the new that must be recognized.

While I watched my friend walk down the runway in her white gloves and purple gown, like the newest item on the auction block, I could not help but wonder what my life would have been like had I stayed in Texas. I could have dated those good ol’ boys, who drink whisky out of flasks and wear cowboy boots with every outfit—the kind of boys who swing you around when you dance and would never expect sex after a kiss. And I could have been the young woman on debut, a true Southern lady. I could have gone to University of Texas, gone to a football game every Saturday, and when I said “y’all,” no one would think it was weird. Yeah, it might have been nice, but y’all aren’t so bad.