Britain has entered peak prom season as students celebrate the end of exams. If you are a parent of a teenager or work in education, you have my sympathies.
Like Black Friday, proms are an expensive American import. The last decade has seen the old British sixth-form nightclubs and leavers' balls transformed into spectacular rites of passage, locking parents into a spending arms race.
For girls, the prom experience can be like a mini wedding. TikTok has ramped up the craze, with videos of elaborate try-ons of prom dresses, prom hairstyles, prom makeup, and even prom nails.
The more spectacular your transformation, the better it will be broadcast on social networks. TikTok features over 200 million prom transitions before and after videos. They are surprisingly addictive to watch.
Add in the cost of the dress, shoes, bag and entrance fee, and prom can easily become a four-figure expense, says Kate Hardcastle, founder of brand consultancy Insight with Passion. Parental guilt is a huge marketing button for organisations to push, she says.
But it does not stop there. Social media has also made prom arrival popular. Renting a stretch limousine is so common that there is now a thriving market in helicopter rentals for proms. High Flying Helicopter, a London-based company, offers such a service at prices starting from 1,500.
I’m not anti-prom. On the contrary, students whose education has been horribly disrupted by Covid deserve to have a real party. But the costs and social expectations of attending are now so high that there’s a risk that not everyone will be able to afford to go to prom.
This is what pushed Ally Elouise, 29, to create Prom Ally in 2015, a social enterprise that lends free outfits to students who would not be able to afford one otherwise.
The good news is that there are many donations of beautiful, expensive outfits to these services. The bad news is that the seasonal nature of proms means charities face high costs to store their inventory until summer returns.
Men's suits have been particularly in demand since the pandemic, perhaps reflecting the increasingly casual nature of workwear, meaning there's less chance of borrowing one from an older brother.
Teens are also finding second-hand prom clothes online, through Vinted and Facebook Marketplace, but it's not just about saving money. Hardcastle calls it Eco bal, noting that searches for upcycled fashion on Pinterest have increased nearly 300% in one year as teens become more conscious of their consumption. Customizing a dress from a thrift store or a forgotten classic from your mother's wardrobe wins political points as well as style points.
An alternative is to rent designer clothes from other people's wardrobes. By rotation rents prom dresses from 5 to 50 per day, plus shipping.
Of course, renting formalwear has long been the norm for men. Moss, the luxury clothing brand (which dropped Bros last year), rents suits starting at $79.95. “We’re in the transformation business,” says Robbi Hicks, the company’s head of visual development, noting how shy teens who show up for their parents’ date visibly gain confidence when they put on a suit for the first time.
Sharing the magic of the fitting room experience is something parents might consider paying for. However, social networks are never far away. TikTok inspired a much more relaxed fit, Hicks says, and (wait for it) the return of the double-breasted suit.
All this spending suggests that proms are good news for the British economy. This has certainly been a boon for independent bridal boutiques, many of which now have a side business selling prom dresses.
Every year, prom gets bigger and bigger, says Kay Heeley, founder of Angel Couture in Yorkshire. Parents typically spend $500, and she has the mother of all worksheets to ensure that no two students end up wearing the same dress to the same event.
What dizzying heights could ball mania reach next? With the teen market so saturated, the focus is now shifting to tweens, with friends reporting that proms marking the end of primary school are now catching on. Then there are graduation ceremonies at nurseries, with four-year-olds sporting caps and gowns while parents brandish a sea of cell phones.
I'm not a party person, but there's an obvious question. With all this glitz, glamor and hashtags, have we forgotten that real-life friendships are what these rites of passage were originally designed to celebrate? Long after the tan has faded and the dress has returned to the wardrobe, the enduring quality of the friendships made during your formative years is what will retain its true value.
Claer Barrett is the FT's consumer editor and author of the FT. Sort out your financial life newsletter series; [email protected]; Instagram and TikTok @ClaerB
