And the Dance Goes On

Every time 18-year-old Regan Shipman thought about the long white dress, the elbow-length gloves and the awkward curtsy in front of hundreds of people, she had an undeniable and leaden feeling of dread. Here she was, a freshman at Wheaton College in Massachusetts, trying to pick a major, and instead, she had to think about her debutante ball.

“I told her she didn’t have an option,” said Regan’s mother, D.D., recently as they sat side by side on the living room sofa in their Hancock Park home. “I said, ‘This is important to me. . . . Sorry, Regan, this is the way it’s going to be. You might as well have a good time.’ ”

Regan, who grew up with her mother’s debutante picture on a wall upstairs, was not happy. But whatever protests she made were pointless. Like it or not, being a Las Madrinas deb was her destiny.

This tug of war between serious college student and pretty girl in a white dress isn’t surprising. That in the year 2000 there still exists a tradition of young adult women dressing up in virginal gowns and waltzing across a crowded ballroom with their fathers seems, at the very least, an odd throwback.

And though some, like Regan, first resist, young women who become debutantes find ways to reconcile their dreams of careers in aerospace or banking with a ritual born in an age when women had little control over their destinies. Those who have a vested interest in the rite--their parents, the charities that are hosts of the balls, society, even--are unwilling to let it go.

Most balls take place during the winter holidays when college students are home on breaks; others are scheduled in February and June. So while debs of winter 1999 are back at school now, basking in the memories of their parties, a new crop is already under consideration for this year’s balls.

The event itself has changed little in half a century. Hotel ballrooms are done up in flowers and white china; guests wear gowns, tuxedos or white tie. An elegant dinner is followed by the presentation of the debs, then dancing. Debutantes still wear long, white dresses, though over the years styles have changed from the sleek sheaths of the ‘60s to big, poufy whipped-cream numbers. Their unlined faces carry traces of baby fat, the last vestiges of girlhood.

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While debutantes seem to make their peace with the antiquated ritual, a lot is going on below the surface, said Sarah Banet-Weiser, an assistant professor of communication at the Annenberg School for Communication at USC and author of “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World: Beauty Pageants and National Identity” (University of California Press, 1999).

“This particular ritual, like all civic rituals, is actually more complicated than either its supporters or its critics attribute to it,” she said. “As with beauty pageants, these women are bright and career-oriented and ambitious, and it does mean something different today than it did 100 years ago.

“However, it’s too simplistic to say it’s totally different. There are still some traditions of femininity that are very deep-seated.”

That evokes something of a conflict between the tradition’s origins and its stated purpose today: If women are no longer presented in order to get married, Banet-Weiser rhetorically asked, “Can a married woman be a debutante?”

Furthermore, “What does the white dress signify? Could she wear a red dress? What does the curtsy signify?”

In a word, said Banet-Weiser, “submission.”

“Yes, these women are bright and committed to issues outside of the family, but there is this underlying grid of family, home and marriage that is tied to the traditional notions of femininity.”

We cling to those notions, she believes, “because these changes are happening in our culture. We need to hold on to something that is a tradition, something that seems natural, universal . . . and what we often hold on to is the traditional notion of what a woman should be.”

Linking Charity and Family

Las Madrinas is just one of many groups that sponsor a deb ball; others include chapters of such established charitable organizations as the National Charity League, the Pasadena Guild of Childrens Hospital Los Angeles and Links Inc. For some, groups connected to churches act as sponsors, such as the Philoptochos Society of St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Cathedral, which holds its ball biennially. Anywhere from eight to 32 girls may come out at one ball, and money raised from tickets and donations fund charities. Age requirements vary among the organizations; participants are usually seniors in high school or college freshmen.

Most debs are invited to participate because of family ties. A mother or grandmother was a deb, or the family has serious charitable connections in the city.

In the case of Las Madrinas, President Clare Webb said a girl’s family legacy is considered by the members, as is her family’s philanthropic activity in Southern California--measured in volunteerism, not money. Names are suggested by members or their friends.

“We are very inclusive,” she said. “We’re aware of what’s going on in Pasadena and in Pacific Palisades.”

Once invited, some debs are required to do volunteer work--usually for the nonprofit entities the ball supports--and hours vary from group to group. That, plus teas, rehearsals and other events, can keep debs busy for months.

“This is not some frivolous evening,” Webb said. “I don’t think the girls feel that way about it. We take them through an orientation of Childrens Hospital, and they just want to be a part of it. This day and age, you have to have something for them to be concerned and care about.”

Webb said that the 66-year-old Las Madrinas (Spanish for “the Godmothers”), which funds research programs at Childrens Hospital, doesn’t ask for a specific monetary commitment but does ask members to consider giving.

“It’s a pretty low-pressure thing,” she said.

She added, “It’s up to the families to decide how much to give, and sometimes they can’t, and that’s OK.”

Debs’ families must also incur the cost of a dress, which can run anywhere from a few hundred to thousands of dollars.

Little profit comes from ticket sales. And though Las Madrinas is guarded about how much money is raised from families and friends of its 32 debs, Webb said the group raised a total of $750,000 last year for the hospital.

“Maybe 10 years ago,” Webb said, “the members were the high society of Los Angeles, but not anymore.”

The notion of the “high society” deb may have changed, but the realm still belongs, for the most part, to the upper classes.

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The Las Madrinas ball was a white-tie event at the Beverly Hilton Hotel on Dec. 22. Women showed up in fur coats and big, glittering jewels. Lavish floral arrangements decorated each table, and guests dined on chateaubriand.

After hours of posing for photographs and a rehearsal to show the girls where to walk and stand, the debs waited anxiously backstage. With their cloud-like white skirts, dewey complexions and bouquets of pink roses, they could be the subject of a Degas painting or a gaggle of groom-less brides.

One by one, they made their entrances as an announcer read their names and their parents’ names. Smiles looked frozen--it was the nervousness, the audience, the uncertainty in high heels. Their fathers escorted them around the dance floor, whispering reassuringly until, front and center, each girl held her breath and made her floor-scraping curtsy to the crowd.

The scene may have looked like something out of a period romance novel, but today’s debs don’t perceive the ball the same way their mothers did decades ago, when a coming-out party was a presentation to society. This rite of passage signified a woman was of marriageable age and ready to take on the responsibilities of her elevated social class.

Debs nowadays have midterms, not marriage, on their minds.

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A couple of days before her debut, 18-year-old Becky Rauth sat in her sun-filled Brentwood bedroom and talked excitedly about training with the Yale track team and a possible run for the Olympics. The ball, said the Yale freshman, tucking her long legs beneath her, is “nice. But I think you need to go into it knowing why you’re doing it and knowing the stereotype.”

That stereotype is, she believes, “the shrinking violet. And . . . I’m definitely not a shrinking violet.”

Rauth’s path to debdom began years ago when her mother, who stayed home to raise her children, joined Las Madrinas. (Her father, Thomas, is an endodontist in Santa Monica.) Two older brothers served as escorts for young women in years past so there was no surprise when her invitation arrived.

(Escorts can be boyfriends or male friends. Rauth’s escort was her best friend’s boyfriend.)

“I was excited when I got the invitation,” Rauth recalled, “because I know it’s always been a fun event with the family, and it supports the hospital.”

Rauth’s mother, Pat, is an energetic supporter of the hospital and said her daughter’s involvement with Las Madrinas “is a wonderful way for Becky to be aware of the hospital. I think our children have been lucky, they’ve been healthy, and they’ve gone to wonderful schools. They should realize that there are many people who don’t have what we have.”

To her, the ball is “an acknowledgment of community involvement for the family and the daughter and a job well-done. It’s a very special group of young people.”

While she always hoped her daughter would want to participate, “I would never have said, ‘You have to do this for the family or do this for me.’ Never.”

Becky Rauth said working with children at UCLA was “something really good to do.” (She couldn’t volunteer at Childrens Hospital because of a conflict with her schedule at Harvard-Westlake School.) “I worked in the playroom. Some of these kids are walking around with IVs, and it’s hard.”

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In the South and on the East Coast, where the deb tradition has deep roots, coming-out balls are big news and feature old, prominent families. Atlanta still crowns a deb of the year, and girls make debuts at a number of balls--some of which support charities, some of which do not.

While some descendants of L.A.’s founding mothers and fathers are still involved, they’re sharing the spotlight with daughters of doctors, lawyers and business executives, not all of them old money, not all of them fabulously wealthy.

Wayne Ratkovich, for instance, described himself as a “blue-collar guy,” having grown up in parts of Los Angeles “where debutantes never set foot.”

Yet the successful L.A. real estate developer, president of the Ratkovich Co., has twice donned tails and white gloves to escort his two daughters at Las Madrinas. His younger daughter, 19-year-old Lindsay, made her debut last year.

He admitted that this time around, the white-tie regalia felt more comfortable.

“You put it on and say, ‘Good gracious, this is really a throwback.’ You feel a little old-fashioned, a little out of date, but on the other hand, you feel good about it, too. It’s the time you spend together. It was an anxious moment for Lindsay that we shared together. I was there to hold her hand, and there’s a union and a warmth there that adds to the experience. It’s seeing your daughter look so beautiful, the natural parental pride just sort of pours out of you.”

‘Being Auctioned Off for Charity’

Still, the family acknowledged Lindsay’s mixed feelings of wanting to support the hospital and feeling like an object on display.

“We talked about her feelings of being auctioned off for charity,” Ratkovich said. “All that got talked out, and we understood it was for a good cause, not simply a social event.”

Lindsay, a USC freshman, concurred: “My initial reaction was that the idea of being presented to society was a little outdated. But you read the history of the organization and you see that it’s more than just that. This is kind of remembering the past, continuing this tradition. It shows respect for the founders. For me, when my dad saw me coming down the steps, it was the first time he saw me as Lindsay, independent woman, away from home. He said, ‘I’m so proud of you, you’ve grown up.’ It was a special moment, and it was funny because I was in a big, white wedding dress, but it was special.”

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Samantha King felt like queen for a day when she made her debut in November at a cotillion at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel sponsored by the Los Angeles chapter of Links, an African American charitable organization.

“I was nervous,” recalled King, 18, a senior at the private West Hollywood high school Pacific Hills. “But it was my day, I presented myself to society as a woman, and nobody could take that away from me. It was like, here I am, I’m ready to face the challenges that come my way.”

Vera Brown-Curtis, president of the L.A. Links chapter, sees the purpose of the cotillion as “enlightening young ladies. We do a lot of things with them in order to raise their awareness in a lot of areas, such as art, culture, poise and community service. It’s showing them how to put forth their very best. And anyone who comes into [it] and doesn’t like it, they are out very quickly.”

Debs apply to be in the Links cotillion; academics and community service count. Girls must complete 75 hours of volunteer work in a six-month period, sell program ads (King sold about $3,500 worth) and are encouraged to attend teas, etiquette seminars and rehearsals.

Brown-Curtis, a Century City family law attorney, said her family did not have the means to sponsor her in a debutante ball, but “as a young woman I knew what it was. There is still that aspect where you have to have a certain amount of money to afford it, and I think that puts some people off; that’s where it gets the ‘bourgie’ label.”

Money is needed, she added, but the expense is not tremendous--ball tickets are $75.

“Parents could not give a party like this on their own. And the girls love it, they make lifelong friends. It’s a glorious time that can never be marred by anything.”

Indeed, Marian McEvoy had the time of her life at her debutante ball in 1966, and the picture from it that still hangs on her wall at home serves as a reminder of her moment in the spotlight. The New York-based Elle Decor editor was a Coronet deb (sponsored by the National Charity League of Los Angeles).

“I had the prettiest dress in the world,” she recalled. “I loved the ball. It was something your parents wanted you to do, but I enjoyed it immensely.”

She unabashedly admits that the endless rounds of parties, teas and the new clothes were a dangling carrot to get her involved. But once there, even volunteering at Childrens Hospital was “definitely good. That was probably the best part of it, because you were involved in something that wasn’t so selfish. I don’t think being a deb has helped me be a better editor, but I sure had a good time, and I learned something.”

The experience also deepened her relationship with her mother.

“I spent a lot of time with my mother that I wouldn’t have spent otherwise,” McEvoy said. “Maybe that was on her mind, spending time with her feisty daughter. I really got to know her.”

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Regan Shipman ended up loving every minute of her debutante ball, from the hours of tedious picture-taking to the dancing--and, yes, even the long-feared curtsy.

“I did it because my mom said I had to do it,” she said. “But I just loved it. It was so beautiful, everybody was so elegant, and it was exciting to see all my friends. The whole idea of raising money was really what pushed me to do it and made me stop complaining because I was doing it for a good cause.”

But would Shipman want her own daughter to carry on the tradition?

Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered: “Yes.”

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Patt Diroll contributed to this report.