I know everyone says their prom sucked. But mine was hell. My date canceled within a week of the dance, so I asked the guy I had my first kiss with a few months prior, but he managed to “eat bad sushi” the day-of and cancel. Meanwhile, my senior-year situationship brought his girlfriend (my friend at the time). We are no longer friends. See? I win!
This was 10 years ago though, and a lot has changed. Today, I live in New York City. I’m an editor at Cosmopolitan. I have a core group of close friends whom I love and trust. And surprise, I’m actually a flaming lesbian despite my many years of dating men. I deserve a prom do-over, right? I think so and I actually got the opportunity on Friday, March 28, at Bowery Electric on the Lower East Side for queer prom with Houseparty, an LGBTQIA+ party series in NYC hosted by a super-cool lesbian couple (ILY, Emma DiMarco and Caroline Hetzel).
I discovered Houseparty through a slew of Instagram videos of hot people kissing at a bar, but I’d describe it as more of a super-gay party where everyone is a friend of a friend. When they announced their queer prom, I was all in.
For weeks leading up, my friends and I planned our outfits, promposals, if we’d bring dates. At 18, having a date to prom was life-or-death. But at 28,bringing a date to queer prom felt like an axe to my independence,like it’d impede my ability to have the most fun possible vs. destroy my social standing in suburban Ohio. I’d been chatting with a girl for about a month, and I had an inkling she might be in attendance. But I didn’t spend hours getting ready trying to impress her. I turned on Muna, did my makeup, browsed my friend group’s collaborative Pinterest board of outfit ideas, and put on a thrifted dress. No hair appointment, no expensive beaded gown, no pre-prom photos my mom would post on Facebook. I didn’t wear anything I didn’t want to wear. I showed up confident and excited for what the night might bring me.
I arrived to a large crowd from the dance floor to the bar to the sides of the room mingling and canoodling. It didn’t feel like a bunch of distinct friend groups all hanging out in the same place—rather, everyone was in this together. The dance floor got packed, to the point that I could barely move without rubbing against the people next to me, but it didn’t feel like the awkward, sweaty club scenes of yore. It was community—everyone existing in their full queerness without questioning themselves or worrying about anything. It was inspiring and healing, even as the alcohol was flowing.
This time around at prom, I let every teeny-tiny thing go—moments that a decade ago would’ve had me ruminating in the bathroom for 20 minutes, worrying about whether someone thought I was weird or ugly or embarrassing. I danced to Justin Bieber. Had a few wardrobe malfunctions. Put my hair up when things started getting sweaty. Scanned the room for hot people. Confirmed there is, in fact, a masc shortage. Begged the DJ to play my favorite song. (Then? “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift. Now? “Touching Yourself” by The Japanese House.)
Finally, the room erupted at the first beat of “Pink Pony Club.” The universal sapphic experience of belting a modern-day classic queer anthem was unmatched. This is what it must feel like for guys at a sports bar to hear “Mr. Brightside” immediately after their team wins the big championship, I thought to myself. It was cringey and cathartic and joyful.
After getting some fresh air (and spotting Alex Consani hopping into an Uber outside the bar—I love New York), I grabbed another drink and surveyed the crowd once more. There were hot sapphic make-outs everywhere I looked, before a full-on performance of “Defying Gravity” by basically the entire building. Queer joy just radiated through the dimly lit room, making the space feel both a thousand times larger and like a tiny cave stuffed with all your favorite people.
I sipped my third tequila soda of the night and recognized I had substances helping me feel more at ease now than I did as a teenager. But I also had a lot of years to grow into myself and actualize my queerness, not just as a fleeting thought in the back of my head but as my life. What really made me feel at ease was the fact that everyone surrounding me had that, too.
This time, there was no after-prom casino-themed bowling. Just a debrief with the Houseparty founders, Emma and Caroline, followed by a drunken Uber home during which I ordered copious amounts of Taco Bell. Because I’m an adult now, and I can do that. I can also take a hot yoga class the next morning and voice-memo my friends about seeing my crush in the crowd. Forget high school prom—theseare the prom memories I’m gonna actually tell my kids about.
