07/09/2025
When I went shopping with my mom for my eight grade dance, I was looking for something like what the rest of the girls at my school would be wearing. Spring dresses with sunflowers, butterflies, or shimmery fabric. Bright colors, spaghetti straps, and platform sandals as far as the eye could see.
My mom was having none of it. Nothing in the juniors section was appropriate for a newborn baby about to enter high school.
If it wasn’t a sack, it was too tight.
Could long, victorian underwear peak out from under the hem? Whoever designed that for a child needs to be arrested.
If there were straps instead of sleeves, I was practically n**e.
I felt a little crazy because everything I looked at seemed tame and normal. We were in a suburban Macy’s, for chrissakes.
I ended up with what was essentially a mother-of-the-bride’s version of school dance attire.
A dark blue, paisley, straight skirt that fell below the knee, a darker blue top with short sleeves and a little notch in the neckline so a powder blue camisole could peek through a quarter inch at the top.
The icing on the cake was the shrug that completed the ensemble, giving my shoulders and upper arms a double layer of protection from scandal.
All of this was sold together as a set on a gigantic tiered hanger, connected by the little plastic bits from price tags.
Even with butterfly clips in my hair and body glitter on my cheeks, I looked like a gussied-up Mormon on her way to the Olive Garden.
My own daughter is a few years away from high school and homecoming dances still. I wouldn’t blink twice at any of the dresses I looked at that day in eight grade. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that what the youths are cha-cha-sliding in today doesn’t always make sense when accounting for factors like gravity.
I’d like to think I’m mega chill and a cool mom who will be mega chill and cool about ace bandages masquerading as formalwear when the time comes. I’m going to try to keep my focus on whether or not she can move about the cabin freely in whatever she chooses to wear. I want her to feel comfortable and confident, but also be able to pick her phone up off the ground if she drops it.
I’m not arrogant enough to think that we’ve reached the bounds of physics. One day, my kids may be shopping for homecoming dresses for their own children. Our parents all scoffed that things couldn’t get any tighter or shorter when we were young. They’re probably going to continue to shrink as advancements in engineering progress.
And all of our daughters we are freaking out about now are going to be freaking out about their own kids and their dental floss homecoming dresses. The circle of life.