Be A Prom Queen
June 9th, 2011 – Day 4
A friend succinctly summed up the challenges of this particular task. “Iris, you’re 28, you aren’t American, you don’t go to high school and there’s a danger they might think you’re a paedophile”.
She’s right, but what does all that matter if I have a great dress? I know it’s something I shouldn’t admit to in polite company, but the unevolved, 1980s neanderthal side of my brain loves tulle, can’t get enough of meringues, and would spend its time gilding already gilded lilies (if only it knew how). My perfect present is a shoulder pad, my perfect date a trip to the cinema to see Molly Ringwald and I’d pick vulgar 80s excess over minimalist chic any day. I make no apologies for these aberrations.
What does prom queen mean to me? Well, it’s kitsch nirvana. And anyone who’s anyone has been one. Like Meg Ryan Hollywood superstar, Alice walker literary superstar, and Crystal Hyatt wrestling superstar.
Being prom queen is a rallying cry for anyone who’s sick of being told that embedding fairy lights into your dress contravenes health and safety standards.