I made a profound discovery while moving aimlessly through aisles of overly sequined dresses and mounds of taffeta. The devil doesn't wear Prada or a blood-red robe; really, the devil wears a prom dress.
As the day of Ryan High School's prom inched toward me, I felt that I must find the perfect dress in order to attend the event. I searched meticulously online, browsing website after website in hopes of narrowing my search for the perfect look.
After making a list of stores to hit, my mother and I embarked on a cross-city expedition to find my dress. Since I had conducted the proper research to make my shopping quick and efficient, I felt confident that locating my dress would be an easy feat, leaving most of my afternoon free of dress-related stress.
I should have known that obtaining the quintessential prom experience was anything but easy.
The first store my mother and I hit offered a surplus of options ranging from short homecoming dresses to custom-made pageant gowns. In the store's parking lot, clusters of girls skipped briskly to the door, chatting excitedly with thoughts of shopping success. I was excited, too, for I truly believed that my dress lay inside those revolving doors, glowing radiantly in an orb of chimerical light for a quick purchase.
Unfortunately, I wasn't greeted by a glowing gown or even a store representative; rather, I found myself wandering blindly through the store, touching random dresses and slipping on loose beads trailing on the carpet.
In the dressing rooms, girls hurled dresses in wadded clumps over their heads, either praising the dress's design or tearfully admitting that the dress was, indeed, three sizes too small as their mothers had predicted.
Other girls modeled dresses awkwardly in full-length mirrors while their mothers assured them that a particular dress fit fine as long as they ignored the pockets of skin spilling over the dress's bodice.
Siblings of prom-goers snoozed through the ordeal on little couches placed periodically along the side of the store while their fathers sought refuge in the "Daddy Zone," a small area where football games played quietly in the back of the store.
When I realized that I wanted my prom dress to be found on a hanger and not in a pile of fabric, my mother and I changed tactics and went on to the next store on the list.
We decided to broaden the shopping scope and go to a massive shopping mall where a wider range of styles could be found. As the afternoon approached and then slipped by, I found myself no closer to finding the dress. All that I had acquired after hours of shopping were a broken fingernail and a bruised elbow, whereas my mother had purchased some shoes in a quick intermission of actual progress.
My mother noticed my lost enthusiasm as I threw yet another dress into the reject pile. When my store list dwindled down to a crumbled scrap, we decided to plan our next attack over dinner.
As we entered the restaurant, the hostess, a perky girl with a blithe smile, inquired about our day as she walked us to our table. My mother recounted our prom dress shopping, regurgitating the high points of the experience with a sigh of defeat.
Upon the word prom, which I cringed at noticeably from my chair at the table, the hostess squealed with delight. With a nostalgic smile, she remembered aloud her prom experience, mentioning with a buoyant animation the expenses of her outfit, her handsome date and the fine memories of the night. When I grudgingly revealed that I hadn't found a dress yet, the hostess grabbed a pen from her pocket and jotted down a fresh list of stores to hit.
"You just have to go to prom," she assured me. "It's so much fun. Make sure you get the entire prom experience."
The conversation was anything but uplifting.
Considering that I hadn't even managed to check one item off of my prom to-do list, I was in no mood to fathom the extent of what went into achieving the "entire prom experience."
I spent the next hour blocking my stress behind a mindless indulgence of food. At some point during the meal, my mother resorted to offering me cash in exchange for bypassing prom night - so she could avoid meandering around the mall again. The offer grew on me as I thought about how many pairs of shorts and tank tops I could buy for the same amount as a prom dress.
As I weighed my options, I briefed our waitress on my dress escapade.
"Oh, prom. I remember that. Don't get too worked up about all the details," she advised. "The important thing is to have fun with your friends, not who has the most expensive dress on."
I considered those words to be fine advice.
I did go on to find a dress that night, a beautiful one that I gush over when showing my friends. Now that my dress, shoes and accessories have been purchased, I have prom night circled and starred on my calendar. However, I discovered something very important when struggling to solidify what I hoped my night would become.
Prom is what you make it, and everyone has an entirely unique experience. If a student aspires to attain that romantic, fairy tale experience, complete with the princess gown and cubic zirconium finishings, then she should devote the time and money to make that storybook ending a reality.
But if she just wants to go and have a good time, then that's a fine route to take as well. Nobody should be intimidated by the idea of what prom should be, could be and would be if no expense is spared.
It's your night, his night, her night, our night. Even the Prom Devil can't take that away.
KATIE BURKS is a junior at Ryan High School and a participant in the Record-Chronicle's Speak Out Loud program for student journalists.
