Buttercup
The Formal [noun]: Abbreviation of the term "formal occasion". Australian equivalent to Valedictorian dinner. Not as formal as a debutante ball.
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For the last two nights my son has been at that highschool students' gateway to Australian adulthood, the Year 10 formal. One night to escort a partner who attends an all girls school, one night to his own. Alone. While some parents look glowingly down on their children as they trot off, dressed to the nines, my mind was cast back to the horror that was my Year 10 formal.
Starting with the dress. Oh my goodness. The dress.
I came from a poor family who did not have the money to fund some amazing concoction of lace, taffeta and tulle. My parents had insisted that I get a casual job as soon as I was able and pay one third of all I earned to my parents as board and lodgings. The lure of 2/3rds of $3.50 an hour was just too much for a poor girl like me, so I shook hands on the deal and grabbed a job at the local Mexican family restaurant that had opened across the road from the graveyard.
After the board and lodgings deal I knew better than to even ask my parents to help with the purchase of any dress, and I knew that I could not afford anything like what the other girls would have. So I scoured the shops for the closest thing that look passable, without being too embarrassing.
I found it in a discount clothing seconds outlet.
In my adolescent brain, shiny material meant "expensive looking", yellow meant "favourite colour". What shiny yellow did not mean to me then, but does to me now is "buttercup". This dress was more like a sun dress than a formal occasion and so I purchased a pair of strappy yellow sandals to go with it (what other colour shoes can you get to go with yellow?).
I don't have any pictures to prove how bad this really looked (my father tore up all photographs of the family when my parents marriage fell apart). Maybe it was OK. I don't remember crying in toilets and I had a bunch of supportive friends who would have lied to make sure I felt alright about my outfit. But I stood out like a sore thumb and I was acutely aware of how different I looked to all of the other participants.
So when your child is heading out the door and they look like this (see below) tell them they look wonderful, because it is pretty hard being a buttercup amongst a field full of roses when you are 16.
_______
For the last two nights my son has been at that highschool students' gateway to Australian adulthood, the Year 10 formal. One night to escort a partner who attends an all girls school, one night to his own. Alone. While some parents look glowingly down on their children as they trot off, dressed to the nines, my mind was cast back to the horror that was my Year 10 formal.
Starting with the dress. Oh my goodness. The dress.
I came from a poor family who did not have the money to fund some amazing concoction of lace, taffeta and tulle. My parents had insisted that I get a casual job as soon as I was able and pay one third of all I earned to my parents as board and lodgings. The lure of 2/3rds of $3.50 an hour was just too much for a poor girl like me, so I shook hands on the deal and grabbed a job at the local Mexican family restaurant that had opened across the road from the graveyard.
After the board and lodgings deal I knew better than to even ask my parents to help with the purchase of any dress, and I knew that I could not afford anything like what the other girls would have. So I scoured the shops for the closest thing that look passable, without being too embarrassing.
I found it in a discount clothing seconds outlet.
In my adolescent brain, shiny material meant "expensive looking", yellow meant "favourite colour". What shiny yellow did not mean to me then, but does to me now is "buttercup". This dress was more like a sun dress than a formal occasion and so I purchased a pair of strappy yellow sandals to go with it (what other colour shoes can you get to go with yellow?).
I don't have any pictures to prove how bad this really looked (my father tore up all photographs of the family when my parents marriage fell apart). Maybe it was OK. I don't remember crying in toilets and I had a bunch of supportive friends who would have lied to make sure I felt alright about my outfit. But I stood out like a sore thumb and I was acutely aware of how different I looked to all of the other participants.
So when your child is heading out the door and they look like this (see below) tell them they look wonderful, because it is pretty hard being a buttercup amongst a field full of roses when you are 16.
posted by Allison Reynolds at 9:57 PM
1 Comments:
I didn't go to any formals but the Smith Family store has a range of only used once formal dresses for under $20.
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