Can Someone Please Explain Cotillion?
I sent my son to cotillion and I don’t know why. I mean it was cute and all, seeing him dressed like a little yachtsman, a miniature polititian, but what was the point? Over the course of ten weeks the kids learned some dances, which they will never use in actual social situations except for maybe at their wedding. If my prayers are answered that won’t be for at least another two decades and they’ll forget by then, right?
The culmination of cotillion was the Holly Ball. We parents dressed up and joined the kids in the gymnasium of the Boys and Girls Club. There were jackets and corsages. I’m not sure what it is we’re preparing them for. Maybe if the dances were held at a country club — if we belonged to one of those, and if it were the type that hosted formal dances and not just happy hours where surgically enhanced housewives got drunk and rationalized screwing the service guy at the Lexus dealership – maybe then it would make sense. But from where I stand, it doesn’t.
This year I had it easy. I had a boy in cotillion. That meant one outfit, week after week. If the girl wants to participate, I’m into it for eight dresses. But I don’t think she’ll bite. She’s smarter than the rest of us. One look at the panty hose and white gloves and she’ll call bullshit. God, how I love that girl.
by Lela Davidson on December 11, 2009
in Rugrats, Tweens, & Other Offspring, Suburban Bliss
While she is calling “BS” on all the silly girl things society expects from us – add 30 dollar shampoo, 20 dollar mascara, and undergarments that could be used in the place of waterboarding…
What is this “cotilion” thing of which you speak? It must be a southern deal. No cotilions here in Vegas.
Of course, that means our kids’ first experiences with dancing usually involve a pole, but you gotta love the low-cost wardrobe.
Yeah, it’s ‘southern’ I suppose. They had it in Texas too. Cute and sweet, but really? I think I’m more offended by the girl part than the boy part. Because it’s all about princess dresses and gloves. Whatever.
And multiple dresses at that! Criminy, I only used one dress to get married in, for crying out loud. How many dresses does a 10-year old need for one week’s worth of setting back women’s rights 150 years?