(268): Teenage Cotillion: Line Dancing at the Gates of Hell

Betta Tryptophan
Jul 25, 2017 · 4 min read
Yes, I actually went out in public in this dress. I don’t think I realized just how cartoony I looked.

Do you remember when you were an awkward teenager with no social skills and no desire to develop any? Well then, maybe it was just me. I was an ill-adjusted 14-year-old who was temporarily upset that I was developing breasts and hips, so I dressed in loose unisex clothing and was obsessed with baseball and science fiction.

Anyway, my parents must have been somewhat alarmed by my refusal to dress nicely and my tomboyish habits, so they decided to “fix” me by signing me up for something that would expose me to other people in a “normal” social setting. It was 1979, so that meant — DISCO DANCE LESSONS! Oh I hated disco at the time, by the way. I think it’s kind of cute and funky now, but back then, you’ve got to understand, the radio stations played the same songs again and again and AGAIN, until I wanted to scream.

But I got off the track there. Anyway, I managed to stumble my way through the lessons, hating every minute of it. At the end of it, I was still an awkward tomboy who dressed sloppily, so my parents tried again. This time, they signed me up for something that was sure to force me to dress nicely, at least for the duration of the function. They signed me up for something called Cotillion.

Basically, it’s a club of young people who gather at a semi-formal dance, chaperoned and proper like back in the 1950’s, only it was 1982 by this time. All I wanted to do was go see Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan one…more…time! But about once a month for my junior to senior year of high school, I had to dress up nicely and socialize with other teenagers under the pretext of a “dance event.”

Luckily, line dances were coming into vogue at the time, and I didn’t mind them. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone there though, because I felt ridiculous in the clown clothes I had hung on my body. I did find that getting up and dancing relieved me of the pressure to talk to other people, so sometimes I just danced on my own, a sort of awkward swaying motion. I would use the “dance strategy” in college later on, with the addition of large quantities of alcohol, to overcome my social anxiety.

In a way, I can sympathize with those who preferred a structured event like Cotillion to introduce young, possibly awkward people to the niceties of social engagement. That way, social encounters can be reduced to a series of precisely delineated steps that didn’t require thought beyond “what do I do next?” But I just couldn’t get over how ridiculous the scenario was.

And I was dead terrified to ask anyone to dance with me. I was convinced that all people could see of me was my acne-scarred face and my awkwardness. I could’ve been right though. No one asked me to dance. So did they find me repellent? Or were they, like me, just scared out of their wits? As I reflect on my likely state of mind so long ago, it seems that Cotillion was just a venue for the damned who don’t know they’re damned yet.

Each person is trapped inside his or her own terror, the fear of opening up in front of others and being ridiculed for it. I still have that terror inside me; my social anxiety still keeps me from talking to people. Only now I realize what’s going on and how silly I am, or how pitiful. I wasn’t trying to go there, but the image in my head of about 100 teenagers, shuffling like zombies to the gates of Hell intruded on my thoughts, and there it is.

So that’s my offhand ramblings for this evening, and thanks for reading. ‘Night y’all!


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Betta Tryptophan

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Blue-haired middle-aged lady with a tendency to say socially and politically incorrect things and to make inappropriate jokes. Awkward and (sort of) proud of it

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