By Cassie Owens Philly.com
WWR Article Summary (tl;dr) Prom send-offs are the party before the party. The basic premise, an opportunity for relatives and family friends to fawn over the prom-goers. These days, however, in Philly's black community in particular, the prom send-off can be much bigger than the prom itself.
Saudia Shuler had promised that there would be action.
Last year the North Philly mom made national headlines after dropping $25K for a prom send-off.
You might remember the camel she hired for her son, J.J. Eden Jr.'s, Dubai-themed bash. When it came to creating a send-off this year based on the film "Black Panther," let's just say she sensed which way to go.
Her panther, Queen, stayed caged and mostly quiet Wednesday evening as hundreds of people gathered, scores of them in costume, on 22nd Street near Shuler's soul food restaurant. Who would benefit from Shuler's largesse this year?
She had held a sort of casting call for the fete; she chose Dayanna McBride, a graduating senior at the YesPhilly school from South Philly as the star of her show, which went up almost immediately on social media.
Prom send-offs are the party before the party. The basic premise, an opportunity for relatives and family friends to fawn over the prom-goers, is a custom that goes way back. These days, however, in Philly's black community in particular, the prom send-off can be much bigger than the prom itself.
Many families have journeyed past the living room photo opps with trays of light bites. It is common now to see black mothers ordering custom photo backdrops and enlisting DJs and photographers. We've witnessed a James Bond-themed production where a lucky couple traveled by helicopter. Who needs to borrow Mom and Dad's wheels when one can rent a Rolls?
Shuler's brand of pageantry is at another level altogether. Her "Wakanda Comes to Philly" was a send-off, surely, but it was also a live show, a film shoot, a catered dinner and block party.
One set of actors dressed as the all-woman military guard from Black Panther's mythical sub-Saharan nation, while another set represented the Jabari tribe. Dance and drumming flowed through the event. There were airs of the superhero blockbuster film, but also of "Coming to America."
Quian Brown, McBride's date, made his entrance after the actors feigned to be at brink of battle. "I feel like I'm The Man," Brown said later.
McBride's final prom look (she had two dresses) was a gold custom dress by Brittany DeShields with a train carried by Wakandan warriors. When she reached their Tesla hired for the night, McBride smiled gleefully.
What's changed? Instagram et al.
It's social media that has changed send-offs, say parents and prom professionals. Videographer Brian Hill can't see why else he'd be getting so many requests for prom movies: "Everyone wants it so that they can post it."
Teens talk of prom season as a time when they continuously watch through their feeds. "Everyone looks so nice," said Jayla Garner, a graduating senior at Girls High. "It's kind of exciting, and then I get excited for myself, like 'Oooh, I'm next.' "
The most opulent or poignant images from send-offs may reach The Shade Room, a black gossip outlet with 13 million followers.
Bayete Ross Smith, a photographer and multimedia artist, pointed out that while schools often prohibit teens from posing and gesturing or including family at the dance, the rules relax at send-offs. "It becomes this visual language for branding ourselves, particularly in terms of public persona," Smith said. In an age where likes and follows are markers of status, the black youth of this city are presenting themselves. "What you're seeing," Smith said, "is a reclaiming of our narrative on a day-to-day basis by young people."
A typical send-off goes this way: a hyped-up entrance to music as the couple descend stairs outside of the home. Then, portraits before an exotic photo backdrop. Lastly, more photos with the car _ and foreign models have lately been more popular than stretch limos. As kids depart, loved ones linger, as if they're at a family get-together.
Marcus Anthony Hunter, a South Philly native and UCLA sociologist, said the families are seizing joy at these elaborate events. "It's still a city where at Starbucks, they can call the cops on you," he said of Philadelphia.
"It's still a place where people are getting displaced and dispossessed. But on this day, we choose to celebrate that my baby looks so beautiful."
At Aajae Whitehead's send-off, she struck her poses beside her grinning boyfriend, Travoni Hunley. Aajae's mother, Aqueelah Whitehead, had spent nearly $4,000 on the dress, the shoes, makeup, hair, DJ, food, decorations and a photographer, among other expenses. After a school fight last year, Aajae landed at a new school and new social orbit. She had considered not going to prom at all.
Even with the transition, she's finishing high school on time and heading to culinary school.
Myah Bush, Aajae's godmother, was deeply proud and wanted to celebrate. Seeing the young people shine, she said, is similar to living vicariously through them, especially for elders who didn't go to prom or graduate high school.
For Shuler's 24 charity prom send-offs this spring, she paid for high fashion and fancy receptions with the help of donors culled from her own network. She selected three of the teens for large productions: a Cinderella theme from the Art Museum with a horse-drawn carriage, a James Bond theme, and then the Wakanda affair.
She won't say how much this cost, nor will she disclose her donations. Still, she estimates that all told, counting contributions from others, the total bill reached six figures. Her Instagram account, @countrycookin1, has 154,000 followers.
Not all parents are game. Angela Mapp, a West Philadelphia lifestyle blogger and screen printer, sees no need for a food or decor budget. Before her son, Ryan Middleton, heads to the dance, they'll be taking photos with balloons. "I think we as a black people get stereotypes of being flashy," said Mapp, who would prefer to invest in school or a trust fund. "I just feel like there's other ways that money could be spent."
Her son said he wanted just close family present for his send-off, but doesn't criticize the hoopla. "Today," he said, "it's all about presentation."
Middleton wore a royal blue suit with gold accents and sparkling gold loafers. He was hoping he'd look like the rapper Jidenna.
Tanisha Ford, an Africana studies and history professor at the University of Delaware, said opulence can be traced to precolonial traditions of self-adornment. Garments served as tools of resistance against accusations of inferiority, added Shantrelle P. Lewis, a researcher, curator and filmmaker who resides in Germantown.
In black communities, sartorial ideals can be exacting and expensive. For children who lack the means to look fresh, the disappointment can be crushing. Experts and professionals say that families are more willing to pick up the tab for prom high fashion.
"This prom day that we come to, our parents, uncles, aunts, they have been saving up money for us to live out this dream, this fantasy," said videographer Lawrence "J-Tech" Jones. When teens who've never ridden in an air-conditioned car find themselves sitting in a Maserati, he wants to preserve that moment. "I want to take their vision of prom, I want to take it to another level with the music and the editing. ... It's a keepsake."
Joseph Richard Winters, a Duke professor who researches black religious thought, has observed a common, morbid narrative about black life in America. Prom send-offs tell another story.
"There is a moment of reprieve against the backdrop of constraint ...," Winters said. "Those moments remind us that mourning and celebration don't need to be seen as opposites." In the way that funeral services in the black church make room for celebration, he said, a send-off can reflect an emotional spectrum. "It's not actually forgetfulness of (loss), it's a response."