Debutante! The very name evokes images of young women in long white gowns twirling in the arms of young men dressed in white tie and tails or tuxedos and black tie. Or does it? How many young people today even know what “white tie and tails” means? Or twirling women in white dresses? Twerking is the word of the first quarter of the 21st Century. Elegance is a memory. However, in 1960, it was still very real for many well-bred, well-to-do, well-connected girls, or those with ambitious fathers or mothers. Generally, the men dressed in formal wear; Tuxedos rather than tails. The ladies, of all ages, wore floor-length evening gowns. What we might now call “ball gowns” were simply the appropriate attire. Neither old nor young tried to buck the system. They accepted it was normal.

 Retelling tales of my own debutante years, a listener asked me if I had written about it. “No,” I said. “Who would be interested in that?”

“Well, actually, a lot of people might be very curious to know about that era. It is a thing of the past now, and there are fewer and fewer people who can remember it, much less explain what it was like.”They said.

So, in a fit of energy, I have decided to write what I remember, what I know, and what is lost forever now, in the mists of time. The very word Debutante is obsolete. What does it mean, now? Wikipedia: A debutante or deb (from the French débutante, “female beginner”) is a girl or young lady from an aristocratic or upper class family who has reached the age of maturity and, as a new adult, is introduced to society at a formal “debut” presentation.

Since early childhood, I wanted to make my debut. In magazines there were images of young women in white ball gowns, white kid gloves to above their elbows, perhaps holding a bouquet of flowers in their arms. To my little girl mind, the young girls looked like princesses. Fairy tales were very much a part of my youthful reading area, so the world of debutantes seemed inviting. My father used to tell me that I would be presented at court and wear a headdress with three white plumes in my hair. He made it sound so romantic that I was disappointed when they stopped that practice in 1958. Queen Elizabeth II decided it was time to let that ancient custom go the way of other ancient ideas. Of course, that just made it even more tenaciously held onto by the socially ambitious.

My debut year was 1960 through the winter season into 1961. Things were still very traditional. There were two ladies who were arbiters of young girls making their debuts in Washington, D.C. One of these was Mrs. Lynette Hetzel, and the other was Mary Stuart Montegue Price. Mrs. Hetzel was the one chosen by the Old Guard, the conservative ones who valued good taste over ostentation at all times. It was a bit like picking teams. My team was Mrs. Hetzel’s.

In June 1960, just after graduation from Holton Arms School, my parents gave two large parties for me at our home, Underoak. The first was a tea for many of their friends and nearly the entire diplomatic corps on June 2nd. That party was blessed with a gorgeous day in the morning but in the afternoon the sky was dangerous looking and thunder rumbled. The only thing to do was bring everything inside. However, by the time the party was about to begin the day cleared up and became hot. No air conditioning in the house, so they carried everything back outside under the huge oak tree for which the house was named. Tables, chairs, the bar, a piano for the band were all brought outside again. The day was once again perfect. The grounds of our house were perfectly groomed with many flowers planted just for this event. All the guests exclaimed repeatedly about the lovely setting.It astonishes me how little I remember of this party, except how lovely the day was. That may be because Mother and I stood shaking hands for two hours upon a small rug layed on the grass, so our high heels would not get stuck in the ground. People who had not been there before were fascinated with the fact that there was so much property surrounding my parents house. It was unusual in the city to own such a large place.

My big debutante ball was held later on June 14th, at Underoak, in Washington, D.C. It was such a pleasure to show off my house and grounds. I did NOT want to have a party in a private club as so many of my friends did. It just did not make sense to me. It still amazes me when people who have gorgeous residences turn to different venue. To me it would only make sense if one lived in a small house or an apartment.

If you have a beautiful home, why not use it? Parties at clubs in town or country all seemed to run together in my memory. The number of parties held at those clubs made it difficult to remember an individual party. In fact, a dance was given for me at the Sulgrave Club, by the renowned hostess, Pearl Mesta. I remember the receiving line and little else because it just looked like so many others. Perhaps Pearl spent extra money on decorations; perhaps she did not. I have no idea what that party looked like. It was flattering, and I was grateful. But what I remember most about that one was standing in the receiving line with Mrs. Mesta and shaking endless hands. All I wanted to do was dance with Charley and stop smiling at strangers, friends of my hostess, about whom I cared very little. Despite the repetition, I enjoyed my debutante year very much. Because it was full of fun and dressing up, and lots of dancing, music and friends to enjoy it with. And Charley was there, he was my boyfriend and my friend. We understood each other and got along very well. There was no “drama” in our teenage arrangement. We just fit each other and we were in love.

I had just graduated from Holton-Arms School, an exclusive private high school at that time, located in Washington, D.C. I was young, rather pretty, slender, and had wonderful hair. But to my shame, my fingernails were bitten to the quick. I was often insecure about my appearance. Bitten nails and skin breakouts, along with worrying about how my hair looked influenced the way I felt. To say I was shallow would be a huge understatement. I grew up in such a rarified atmosphere that my knowledge of the rest of the world came only from books. Luckily, reading was one of my greatest pleasures. However, I also loved looking pretty. This entailed getting my hair “done” weekly and attending dance classes, learning deportment from a lady who made her living teaching young ladies. Mrs Williams instilled etiquette that remains with me still. My father instilled the idea that our family was special and there were special rules we had to abide by. My mother made sure I always had fresh lipstick on and my hair away from my face, before leaving the house, no matter what! All of this seemed real to me at that time. I was completely oblivious of my innocense and lack of awareness. I believed what my father told me.

My father loved to buy me clothes. I had a closet full of gorgeous evening dresses, mostly full-skirted, with strapless bodices. Several were white because there were so many balls where I was the debutante being presented. But others were colorful, in marvelous silks and satins. One of my favorites was a strapless pink satin with elegant embroidered ribbon detailing. I wore long white kid gloves that covered my skin up to and over my elbows. They were costly, fragile, and easily stained. But how elegant they looked. My high-heeled shoes were either white satin or dyed to match my dress. My jewelry was simple and appropriate, but it was always real. One of my prettiest dresses was a ballet length white organdy dress appliqued with blue flowers with tiny green leaves all around the top of the bodice and the middle of the skirt. This was the dress I wore to my debutante tea.

My boyfriend, Charley, and I were in love and very secure in our relationship. He danced with me repeatedly and well. We both knew we made a beautiful couple on the dance floor. It was such fun for both of us. We never had a moment of awkwardness, wondering whether we would be dancing together, because we always knew where the other was. As a debutante being “brought out” into society, I was constantly danced with by many boys. But they all knew that Charley and I were a couple. Other young debs were sometimes very insecure about whether they would have partners or be wallflowers. For these girls, the parties were more fraught with teenage angst and agonizing. I was lucky in every way.

In those days, no one seemed to care about underage drinking, and the teenage boys enjoyed the lack of rules. A few took a bit more advantage than others. But most of them, even if they were a bit tipsy, behaved rather well as they knew the social rules and wanted to stay on the list of “stags”. Of course, some girls overindulged, too. During a time when I decided to drink no alcohol, I watched the behavior of girls under the influence. It absolutely disgusted me. The image of a drunk girl, losing control, getting sick, making inappropriate comments and falling down drunk impressed on me that I never wanted to look like that! That was the end of my drinking. Going to a party and remaining sober the entire time was just as much fun for me, if not more. It was more than 45 years later, before I began to have an occasional drink. It is fun, but by no means is it necessary to have a drink to enjoy an evening out.

All those parties were expensive for the hosts, but for the guests, it was one free evening after another. Excellent food and great music in lovely settings- what’s not to like? Together with a couple of hundred of our friends, a great time was had by all. There were dances and dinners and “Tea Dances” and just plain tea parties just about every day, even during the week for that short period of time. However, the only parties I remember in any detail were those at which I was presented. Even my own sister’s party at the OAS in Washington, D.C., is only remembered in short glimpses, partly because I have photos of it. I was married and pregnant, and my attention lay elsewhere by that time. But it is true that Dede’s party was tremendous and memorable. She did not take advantage of Underoak, our beautiful home, but instead, my father arranged for a truly magnificent venue. It was spectacular and exactly what she wanted.

My taste is more traditional. It suits me to entertain at home, where the sincere, personal hospitality is felt the moment one walks in the door. Underoak, our family home, is spectacular and has 2.5 acres of land. Plenty of space to put tents and fill them with portable tables and chairs and a dance floor, with space for an orchestra. Unique and unlike any other Deb Ball, many of the people who came to my party remembered it later. That may have been partly due to the fact that it poured rain the entire evening. But the decorations were amazing and unusually abundant for the time. It was definitely “over the top.” Especially memorable was the Steel band of Pedrito Altieri, imported from some Island who played after Myer Davis left for the evening at 1:30 or 2:00 AM. I changed out of my designer ball gown and attempted the Limbo in a more comfortable short white chiffon dress with a full skirt, which swung beguilingly as I twisted my body to go beneath the limbo bar.

Many years later, my two daughters both made their debuts with a tea dance at our home, Heathfield for each one. Then they had a separat ball up in Newport at my mothers’ marvelous home, Beaulieu. But things were very low key. There was not a Deb season like when I came out.

Back in the 1950s and 1960s, making one’s debut was something to be proud of. It was a privilege afforded to only a few young girls. There was a season to it. In the early summer, there was a two-week span just after most schools finished for the year, when debut parties rushed to fruition day after day, clustered together in that finite amount of time, clawing for recognition, hoping to be a memory. Teas or tea dances in the afternoon, a dinner in the evening, and then a dance beginning at 10 pm, night after night. Sometimes my feet would be throbbing so much that I felt I needed to go lie down. But then a new song would begin, I would take a few steps on the dancefloor, and like magic, pain left my feet, and I danced and danced!

During Thanksgiving, we started again, but this was a short burst of parties, including a ball at which a group of specially invited debutantes was presented by their fathers to the guests. I was not asked to be presented at that ball. My parents especially my mother was afraid I would be diappointed not to be included. Actually, it meant little to me because I thought that I did not want be brought out en masse with other girls since I was also having a ball of my own. Instead, we went to Dallas for Thanksgiving, where I was presented at the Idylwild Ball in that city in Texas with other girls. There only 4 of us if I remember correctly. While in Texas I was also given a ball by my grandmother, Mrs. Wiley T. Buchanan Sr. at the Dallas Country Club there.

Christmas was perhaps the most formal season. There was something festive about going to parties when it was already dark. Christmas lights were everywhere, glittering cheerfully. Bundling up to stay warm in winter weather and decorations, including those already planned for Christmas, enhanced the feelings of holiday cheer for everyone. The weather could certainly cause problems getting to parties, and I can remember a snowy night months before I fell in love with Charley, when my date and I got stuck in a snowdrift. We could NOT get unstuck. All dressed up in evening clothes to go to a ball, with no way to get there. We were able to flag down a UPS truck driver and beg a ride to the nearby club where the dance was already in progress. Once we reached the ChevyChase Club, anyone watching me as I stepped gingerly down from the high truck in my high heels and floor-length evening gown must have had a great photo op. But in those days, there were no cell phones for instant recording every interesting thing that happened at every moment of the day or night.

It was a gentler time. The etiquette and all those social rules may seem excessive today. They were normal then, and kept things civilized and safe. It seems somewhat archaic in retrospect, but at that time it was serious business. It was such fun for me to put on a different dress every evening and go to yet another party. The dances served “breakfast around midnight. This helped soak up any extra alcohol consumed by overeager young men (and girls). The meal consisted of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, toast, and variations such as creamed beef, hash browns, potatoes, and maybe some veggies or fruit. This signaled that we were halfway through the evening. these parties could go on for hours. We always knew when it was the last dance of the party, they played “Good Night Ladies.” Then the guests left feeling satisfied and happy if all went well.

Memories of that time are spotty, yet overall they are good and pristine. There were no beggars or homeless people on the streets. I never heard of anyone getting mugged or robbed. Police patrolled the streets, and people welcomed them because that was considered a good thing. Most everyone I knew believed we lived in the best country in the world and were proud of that. There were problems. The Cold War was real. The threat of nuclear war hovered over everything. However, for us, the world was our oyster. We felt immortal and we believed we would soon attain our dreams as adults. And some of us did.

Copyright©. 2026 Bonnie B. Matheson