You hate being told this, but you’re too young for that. Is the world going to end if you can’t dress like a baby prostitute?
Ah, prom. I’m surprised I remember mine almost like it was yesterday, considering it happened over a decade ago (God, I’m old), even though it was just another annoying teenage experience that my mom insisted I have. (Much in the same vein as those childhood ballet lessons every girl had to go through. Ugh.) I didn’t want to go.
The biggest challenge at the time was finding a date. I went to an all-girls Catholic school, and while meeting boys didn’t appear to be particularly difficult for some of my batchmates, it was for shy, antisocial, and violently awkward 16-year-old me. The one and only cute boy I’d had a brief flirtation with ended said flirtation before I could capitalize on his cuteness for that cheesy couple photo. My backup prospective date, the bass player in my short-lived high school band, had a thing for one of my friends and the feeling was not mutual, so in the interest of keeping the evening less awkward, he was no longer an option. (And I hated his spiked hair.) Ultimately, I ended up meeting my date on prom night itself, a radio DJ my uncle set me up with, who turned out to be a fun and entertaining dude to have at the barkada table. (Mad props to any guy in his twenties who is un-self-conscious enough to rap Parokya Ni Edgar’s The Yes Yes Show with feeling on the dance floor with a bunch of teenage kids at a high school prom. You are gold.)
Infinitely easier than procuring a guy to go with was getting a dress made. Teenage fashion was uncomplicated then, not like it is now. We weren’t so label-conscious. (Or maybe I wasn’t.) Sure, there were a few girls who got their gowns made by the likes of Rajo Laurel, which blew my mind at the time (I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were going to your wedding?), but the rest of us bought dresses off the rack or pulled pegs from magazines and had them copied by our friendly neighborhood modista. (My peg was Gwyneth Paltrow’s pink Ralph Lauren dress from the 1999 Oscars, but in burgundy, and with a halter top... so I guess the Ralph Lauren ended up not being my peg after all?)
Prom night itself was a sartorial free-for-all. I had a friend whose midriff was covered in mesh — very daring at the time, hubaderas of 2014, very daring — and another whose dress was conservative in the front, but extremely bare in the back; quite the shock to me because she was so demure, and well, wholesome. Our prom then was underground, unofficial, and unsanctioned by the school, so the only rule when it came to clothing was to wear whatever the hell you wanted, and people definitely did.
It’s another story if your school’s hosting the thing. A few weeks ago, a friend posted a photo of the dress guidelines for a high school prom and they were extensive. The mesh my friend wore 10 years ago, totally forbidden. My other friend’s backless dress would have gotten her sent home. Tube tops? Only if you’re wearing a bolero the whole time, so why bother? Off the shoulder, out of the question. The fit can’t be body-hugging below the waist. Even dress length isn’t spared — no higher than two inches above the knee, no lower than two inches below, and slits can only be one inch up the knee. (“Nag-slit ka pa?†commented a designer friend.) Plus, you had to show the dress drawings to a teacher for approval. (What on earth would that mean for the students who weren’t planning to have dresses made, though?) The rules seemed extreme when I first read through them, but when I really thought them over, I realized I was looking at them from a sometimes (read: often) scantily clad 20-something’s point of view. In the context of 16-year-old high schoolers, the rules weren’t actually so bad. And these were already the strictest rules I’d seen.
Sure, the length is boring as hell; everyone’s going to be in a flouncy short-ish skirt of some sort because bodycon’s not an option. (I happened to be in a hotel lobby when kids were leaving their prom and literally all the girls were in the same skirt shape. Snoozefest.) Yeah, you can’t show any cleavage, or bare your shoulders, but do you really need to show skin to look good? Can I point you in the direction of my future wedding dress designer Elie Saab? #ELEGANCE
Rage against the rules, kids, but your school is just trying to keep it classy. Admit it, given free rein, there will totally be a good number of underage harlots sprinkled throughout the ballroom in outfits that even my most fabric-challenged friends would cringe at. Some of the guidelines are actually more than understandable; in hindsight, no matter how mature we considered ourselves to be at 16 (and I can tell you at 26 that we were very much mistaken on that count), plunging necklines and right-above-the-crack backs were so not age-appropriate, and no matter how many celebs and teen queens rock similar frocks on the red carpet, they will never be. You’re 16. You hate being told this, but that doesn’t make it less true: You’re too young for that. Is the world going to end if you can’t dress like a baby prostitute? Will the evening be completely ruined if you can’t wear a bustier top with your cleavage up to your neck?
No, it won’t. Believe me, you will have the rest of your adult life to make questionable clothing decisions. (You know, when your parents will give whatever you’re wearing the once-over and then just shake their heads in dismay, unable to really say anything else about it since you’re a grown woman and need to be able to make your own mistakes.) Dedicate the four (or so) hours of prom night to prettiness, not provocation.
And in the words of my designer friend Maureen Disini, “I guess it’s not really the dress that matters. But your date does!â€