Hi ITG Readers,
You may have seen me pop up on here a few times (I dyed my hair pink, got false eyelashes put on me, braided my hair into a beard, and sometimes show up in the team’s Instagrams). But I am here to tell you about my prom last Friday in New York City. This being my first one, I didn’t have any idea of what to expect since everything I knew, or imagined, about prom came from movies or TV. Meaning: bowls of punch, some sort of choreographed dance number, pig’s blood, and Marty McFly (see below). So why am I telling you this? Because when I told Emily I was going to my first-ever prom, she basically squealed and told me I had to write something about it for ITG. So… this is my prom:
Every year, the seniors vote on the place they want their prom to take place. (I’m only a sophmore, so I had no say in the decision, but my boyfriend, Eli, did.) The winning location: the Hudson River. I wish I could tell you that I went to prom in a super-secret glass-cube club that’s safely submerged in the Hudson River, but I can’t—we were on an old-fashion river boat. This, luckily, didn’t put any limitations on hair, makeup and outfit choices, as might have been the reality of the whole underwater cube-club idea.
About two months ago, I asked my mom, Jeanine, who you guys probably know, about a dress. She told me that we would figure it out and not to worry. I let her do her thing. I wasn’t actually worried, more just excited to see what she was going to do. Like any mother would, she called up Natalie Portman to see if there was anything I could borrow (sarcasm intended: Natalie has become a family friend, thanks to years of my mom doing her makeup). She did. The day of prom—the same day as my physics final, ugh—I got ready with my friend Hazel. This consisted of ideating on worst-case scenarios and eating Trader Joe’s microwave tamales. I was afraid of falling off the boat, or somehow getting left behind on the boat and then being dragged to another school’s prom. After eating too much, we got ready to go. My mom did my makeup and assisted with my hair. Makeup-wise, I wanted to basically look like a cleaned-up version of myself. (It had been finals week, so I was wearing sweatpants, no makeup, and yelling a lot in school.) We used a Tom Ford Silverized Topaz Eye Color Quad, Chanel blush, and lots and lots of Chanel Inimitable mascara. My dress was a greyish black color, made of layered tulle and strapless. It was tight on the top and then poofed out and ended just above the knee. It was by Lanvin, and it was gorgeous.
At 6 PM, my boyfriend came over to pick me up. I had ordered him a boutonniere the day before from a flower shop, which thankfully looked beautiful (the clerk had asked me something about “bling,” which I politely declined—the thought of a bedazzled orchid concerned me). I wasn’t sure how to put it on, so my dad had to fasten it on my date’s blazer. This would have been extremely embarrassing and a night ruin-er if my life were a 1980s film, but (unfortunately) it is not, so it was all good. I decided to wear my mom's crystal Valentino sandals because I was not going to be able to walk around in heels all night and feared that I would trip and become a trending gif on tumblr. We got to the boat with a small umbrella (it was sprinkling), and boarded. Somehow, we managed to be early, but the staff let us on. Inside, there was a lineup of soft drinks, which all tasted like every soda and juice mixed together in a glass. (None were actually that bad, but I was frazzled and needed something to complain about.) For some completely pop-culture-inspired reason, I expected lots of paper-mache decorations and streamers—reality: balloons!—and, I sincerely hoped, a live band! No such luck. The rest of the night consisted of lots of dancing (I basically became Rihanna), food (a lot of pasta, which I indulged in happily), about 1,000,000 photos, and, of course, many more selfies. Also of note: no slow song! I was okay with it, though, because I was a mess after loudly singing along to Kanye lyrics I didn’t actually know and getting stepped on about five times. Although my prom didn’t end with me electrocuting everyone with telepathy, or starting a group dance number, or revealing my true identity as an undercover reporter, I had a blast. The only sad part is now I have to pack up my dress and send it back to Natalie Portman.
Xo
Esmé
