Welcome to the Ball

Kathryn A. Long ’05 has been immortalized. To commemorate her debut into society, Long’s mother commissioned a painting of her decked out in full debutante regalia. With blonde hair and an easy smile, Long looks as if she’d be at right at home on a camelia-covered veranda in a classic film. “It’s a seven-foot by four-foot portrait of me standing in my debutante dress, wearing my gloves, and holding my purse. There’s a French-blue background and our antique chairs behind me,” says Long, laughing self-deprecatingly. “My mom is very old-fashioned,” explains the native of Atlanta, Ga.

The debutante tradition nods respectfully to the societal conventions of an earlier age—to the days when women were courted, men ruled supreme and good breeding was the ultimate asset. Girls who debut today find themselves in a virtual time warp.

The notion of a debut dates back to 16th-century England and is credited to Queen Elizabeth, who formally introduced eligible young women to the court. Wealthy Americans adopted the custom in the 19th century as a means of letting interested men know their daughters were available.

In 1948, James H. Bossard and Eleanor S. Boll of the University of Pennsylvania addressed the tradition of debutante balls in their study entitled “Social Forces.” They got to the heart of the matter quickly, writing, “[Parents] present the product of their careful rearing to their approved friends with the unspoken sentiment: ‘This is my daughter, now prepared to enter into, and take her part in, our own social set. She is up for your inspection, and may she be acceptable.’”

A Family Tradition

Joyce E. Jauer ’05 always knew she was going to be a debutante. More than that, she dreamed of being the reigning debutante of the San Antonio Fiesta, her hometown’s 10-day historical and cultural celebration.

“I was a Fiesta baby,” she explains. “When I was four, I saw the queen getting crowned and she was gorgeous. I wanted to be her—I wanted to be the fairy princess with the crown and the big puffy white dress. It’s a little girl’s dream—like you want to be a ballerina or you want to be Cinderella. I wanted to be that girl when I was four. I came home, I practiced the bow. And of course, I fell over myself because I was four years old. Every year I would practice the bow and all the girls who were queen were my role models.”

South Carolina native Mary Ellen R. Player ’04 also grew up with the tradition. “My whole family has come out—even my boy cousin,” she says. “It was just something I was going to do.” It became an event Player looked forward to after she was not allowed to attend her cousin’s ball because she was too young. (Most modern debutantes typically come out during or after their first year of college.) “It was kind of a rite-of-passage thing,” she says. “It was my turn; I was joining the club.” Similar to Long, Player’s family has a tradition where, after her debut, each young woman has her portrait made in her debutante dress. Her grandmother then displays all the pictures on a table in her house. “I wasn’t on it yet,” Player says with a smile. “So I was like, ‘I made it to the table.’”

While most young women who debut join a long list of relatives who have done so, first-generation debutantes exist. Ashley B.T. Ma ’05 was the first in her family to come out. She made the decision to debut because the organization that ran the ceremony, the Junior League of they City of New York, had a long history with The Chapin School, her alma mater. Ma and Chapin classmate Catherine K. Gyllerstrom ’05 also defy debutante myths in that neither one is the stereotypical WASP. While Ma is half-Asian, Gyllerstrom is Greek and Swedish. However, Gyllerstrom was born into the debutante tradition, though not in the conventional sense. Gyllerstrom’s mother represented Greece at the International Ball, which is held every year in New York City. This Christmas, Gyllerstrom will also be presented under the Greek flag at the same event.

Some debutantes key into the tradition more than others. With her short hair pulled back in sparkly barrettes, funky jewelry dangling from her neck and Saucony sneakers peaking out from the bottom of her pants, Elizabeth H. Hagan ’02-’03 looks like she’d rather be at a SoHo coffee house than a formal tea party. But Hagan was born and raised in Atlanta and comes from a long line of debutantes. “I absolutely refused to participate in the process,” she says. “My mother had these letters [of recommendation] written up anyway and was like, ‘Surprise! You’re going to be a debutante!’ I was not terribly amused.”

Walk This Way

While the reasons behind teenagers’ decisions to debut are usually one of two—it’s a family thing or their friends are doing it—the actual process varies radically from city to city and club to club. Young ladies are typically invited by charitable organizations to be debutantes. Some organizations require letters of recommendation, but the common factor in the selection process is that, as Gyllerstrom notes, “it’s either a blood thing or a friend thing.”

Women can be offered the chance to come out multiple times in cities (and even countries) other than their own. Long was a debutante at the Thanksgiving Ball in Washington, D.C., and will also be a debutante in her hometown of Atlanta this summer, in New York City over Christmas and in Japan next summer.

Once selected, the women begin the process of becoming debutantes. The preparations range from selecting a guest list and finding the perfect dress to curtsy lessons, never-ending parties and long rehearsals. Daphne W. Lyman ’05 experienced a bit of both types of debutante schooling. She participated in two balls in New York City: the Junior Assemblies and the Infirmary Ball. The Junior Assemblies was the more exclusive of the two; the only people allowed to attend were family members and escorts. The Infirmary Ball was on a much larger scale. “It was really kind of out of control,” Lyman says. “We had to do a choreographed dance with bouquets and curtsies...They had this whole routine with an order and you had to memorize your order, and then you had to practice your curtsy, and then you had to walk a certain way, and then you have to line up. It was this big charade. They changed it every five minutes and nobody knew what they were doing.”

While Hagan didn’t have to learn a special dance, her debutante process monopolized a few months of her life. The summer before her sophomore year of college, she attended the Pastel Ball and then an endless stream of parties—one for each of the 20-odd debutantes. They led up to the culminating event, the Harvest Ball, held over Thanksgiving. “Some of the people were perfectly nice. Lovely manners, very pleasant. But not very interesting,” Hagan says. “I think it was that summer I developed a taste for beer. I would just get so bored at these things and end up, you know, having a little beer now and then.”

Melissa A. Tanner ’03, of Huntsville, Ala., also underwent involved preparation for her debut. In between tea parties, she was schooled on the curtsy as well as seating arrangements. “It was a pretty big time commitment,” she says.

For Jauer, debuting was a process that encompassed more than a few months. She didn’t take any special lessons because, she explains, etiquette was presupposed. Jauer details a list of debutante musts: “I went to Cotillion since grade school and you’re expected to know how to eat properly, how to conduct yourself, how to be a hostess, how to introduce yourself to people, how to initiate conversations and hold them with adults. You’re expected to be that girl already, before you get in.”

More elaborate debutante balls can incorporate a competition into the festivities. Jauer was chosen to be the queen of the Gardenia and Musical Club during her first year of high school as well as Fiesta Teenage Queen 2000. For the Black and White Ball, which originated with the hope of improving Mexico-United States relations, she and the other debutantes were actually judged on their “performance.” Among other things, their execution of the elaborate curtsy was scrutinized.

North and South

Debutantes are distinguished not only by their frilly dresses, but also by their regional affiliation—namely, North or South. As a New York City debutante, Stovell says that though the ball was a significant expense, she could see it being worse. “I think the South is just crazy,” she says. “Ours is a big party for 20 girls, not for one girl. In the South, I can see people spending $50,000 on a party.” Young women who have experienced it first-hand admit that debuts do seem more momentous in the warmer states. Tanner moved from Maryland to Alabama when she was 12 years old. Her older sister was not invited to come out because the family hadn’t lived in the South long enough. “It’s really a sign of being accepted into Southern culture,” Tanner says.

Player’s debutante ball typified the nostalgic Southern mentality. “There were definitely pictures of Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee,” she remembers. “And then all of the Citadels who were there were in their little gray uniforms with their tassels.” On a more serious note, Player also noticed that many of the guests were uneasy with her diverse group of guests. “I was the oddball,” she says. “My roommate is Puerto Rican, my boyfriend is Cuban and one of my best friends is Indian. That was huge.”

Long says many of the Southern debutantes took the tradition very seriously. “Some of [the girls] were so old-fashioned,” she says. “A lot of them really think they’re going to marry one of the escorts. I don’t think New York debutantes go into it with that kind of outlook.” Hagan shared a similar experience. “Every now and then I’d crack a joke about how silly it was and people would kind of look at me in a very strange way. That was a little upsetting,” she says.

New York debutantes didn’t encounter this mind-set. “It used to be like that in the North,” Ma says. “You read The Age of Innocence and hear all about the Fifth Avenue debutantes. The houses had their own ballrooms. It’s not like that anymore.” Lyman too maintains that the distinction of being a debutante is dubious. “No one I know, especially the New York ones, actually cares about the coming out part,” she says. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

There’s the South and then there’s Texas. Debutantes from both the South and the North credit the Lone Star state with the most elaborate debuts. And the subject of Texas balls inspires the inevitable discussion of the “Texas bow” (a.k.a. the “Texas Dip” and the “Texas Swan Dive”). The elaborate curtsy is a regionalized version of the bow debutantes did when they were presented to the Queen at St. James’ Court. Player didn’t have to perform it herself but has seen it done. “It’s ridiculous,” she says. “You have to get a special dress made so you don’t flash the world.” Long did have to learn the bow for her debut. Sitting at a table in the Science Center Greenhouse, she improvises with her arms and talks through the basics of the bow. The debutante must lower herself completely to the floor, put her head down to acknowledge her audience and rise without assistance.

Jauer is a veteran of the bow and laughs when she hears it referred to by one of its various monikers. “I don’t actually know what the Texas bow is because when you’re in Texas you don’t call it the Texas bow,” she says. But she says the bow (which she calls the “Full Court Bow”) is very hard. Not only is it difficult to rise from the floor, bowers are also hampered by their heavy dresses and hoop skirts. Their garb acts like a suction and pins them to the floor. But when done right, she says, “It’s supposed to look like you are melting to the floor and acknowledging the people you are bowing to gracefully.”

Dressing To Impress

Harvard debutantes are wary of being pigeonholed as such. “We were all kind of aware of the stereotypes around it,” Ma says. “Most of the girls I talked to didn’t want to be the Southern debutante who has the huge poufy ball gown dripping with her mommy and daddy’s diamonds and does the Texas Swan Death curtsy.”

Even Jauer, a die-hard Texan who hangs a state flag that flew over the capitol in her room, says that being a debutante is more than an item on her social checklist. A major reason why debuting in Fiesta meant so much to her was the meaning behind the celebration. “It’s a part of me,” she explains. “It’s unique and it’s fun and it’s something that people from all over the world come to.” At the same time, Jauer realizes how Texas traditions might appear to those looking in. “We’re insane. We’re crazy,” she says, laughing. “But we have fun. We’re Texas. We have a lot of state pride and a lot of pride in our history.”

Hagan is still not entirely at ease with the idea of coming out into society. “One of the things that upset me about the process is that it encouraged making women feel like objects,” she says. “It’s like this is your training for being in the Junior League of Atlanta.” Tanner agrees in part. “For me, it was a nice party to have,” she says. “I don’t plan to live in Alabama for the rest of my life. Certainly, some of the other girls will live not only in Alabama, but in Huntsville, and their girls will be debutantes too.”

Ma says she recognizes that the tradition is not without flaws. “I didn’t want to make it sound like a bunch of bloated little white girls running around spending money and I also don’t want to say that there’s not a little bit of that,” she says. “There’s elitism in it just by the nature of the process—not everyone debuts.” But she adds, “It doesn’t have the same implication that you do this because you are some spoiled, bratty girl who wants to have a big party, spend a lot of money and find a husband.”

Though Ma maintains that money is not the defining characteristic of debutantes, girls debuting in New York typically spend anywhere from $1,000 to $5,000 on their dress. Most scour bridal houses and popular designers like Vera Wang to find the perfect gown. Gyllerstrom remembers that getting into her dress “was a big production...It looked like this huge Scarlett O’Hara/French Revolution dress. The train was so long they bustled it up under the dress and the way it had to be tied was so complicated that all the ties were numbered and lettered.” Tanner bought her dress from a bridal shop. “The skirt had 10 layers and I had to have someone help me put it on,” she recalls. “It was really heavy.” For her coronation as Fiesta Queen, Jauer donned the dress that two past queens had worn, an elaborate concoction of iridescent sequins, mirrors and a 20-foot train. It is now part of a museum exhibit in San Antonio.

While there is more socioeconomic diversity of debutante balls than in the past, most girls who debut have a certain social stature. Lyman knew almost everyone at the two balls she attended. “It’s all the New York inner private school circles and the people that left and went to prep schools,” she says.

But instead of harping on the social underpinnings of the process, most debutantes think of coming out as a nice tradition that has the added benefits of fabulous parties, lots of shopping and quality time spent with loved ones. “It was really just a fun time,” Lyman says. “All my friends were there and everyone was dressed up. It’s very civilized but at the same time it’s a debaucherously good time.” Player agrees that a lighthearted approach is the only way to go. “You have to separate yourself from the whole formality of it—if you can laugh about it, you’ll have a good time,” she says. “I don’t think there’s ever been a period I took it seriously,” Long says.

The Debutante Legacy

Few have regrets about having the debutante legacy. Though Hagan doesn’t deny she disliked parts of the process, overall, she says she is happy she went through it. “I would do it again just because it gives you a glimpse of a group and a lifestyle and kind of a snapshot of people’s ways of thinking that you otherwise wouldn’t experience,” she says.

In a society where women no longer rank early marriage as their top priority, coming out has less to do with getting the ring and more to do with forging stronger relationships with family and friends. No matter what region of the country one hails from, the essence of being a debutante remains the same.

Ma, the classic New Yorker, shares the same sentiment as Hagan. “The best part of it isn’t the fact that I can sit here and say I’m a debutante,” Ma says. “It doesn’t mean anything—I’m not going to put that on a résumé. It was having that moment with all my best friends, from here and from home,” she says. “How many times in your life do you get to be the center of attention like that? You’re wearing a full-length white dress, carrying flowers, with guys in tuxes all around you. It’s fun.”