Starts with K

Earlier this month, I went to more proms in one day than I did all through my own high school years.

While the challenge is being in two – or three – places at the same time, I have never complained about covering high school proms as a journalist.

I do love a prom, but I’m not sure why.

Maybe it’s nostalgia; we of the Gunne Sax dress era may be a bit dazzled by all of the shimmer and sequins and slits.

Side note: I just Googled Gunne Sax dresses, which are now described as “iconic” and “romantic prairie” and “cottagecore,” which has me rolling my eyes nearly out of my head.

I don’t know a lot about prom preparations these days; but I have to believe some things remain the same.

It goes without saying that prices have changed; I think I paid about $50 for my prom dress in 1979 – which would be about $200 today.

Side note: I just Googled the average price of a prom dress in 2026 in Minnesota, and was told it’s between $350 and $650. Really?

My friends and I also bought new Candies shoes – ridiculously high-heeled and quite uncomfortable – and a shawl for a chilly spring night in Iowa. We did our own hair and makeup, with probably a lot more hair spray and pastel eyeshadow, respectively, than normal.

But my senior year, things got more … cosmopolitan, shall we say? My friend, Delyce, had her parents buy her a sunlamp. We were going to be tan for prom, ladies. In the spring. In Iowa. What could possibly go wrong?

Side note: I just Googled sunlamps and learned that “due to growing knowledge regarding the risks of UV exposure, the FDA developed performance standards for sunlamp products in 1979.” Too late.

The day before prom, about six of us arrived at Delyce’s parents’ home, dressed in tank tops and jeans, faces freshly washed. Headbands pulled our hair out of the way.

We took turns under the sunlamp, which had a rather vague suggestion of how long exposure should be. Delyce had been using it for a week or so already, and had developed a lovely caramel color from multiple 10-minute sessions.

The rest of us had enough sense to realize our first exposure should probably be shorter, and settled on eight minutes. In hindsight, yikes.

We also knew enough to keep our eyes closed, though those funky little goggles didn’t exist.

I went last, because I wanted to see how everyone else fared. I was then, and am now, pale. I had a wild mass of freckles when I was younger, my mother was a redhead, and I burned easily.

By the time I positioned myself with the lamp above my face and neck, the sunlamp had been on for nearly an hour. The bathroom – where the tanning was occurring – was about 100 degrees.

When I emerged eight minutes later, my friends’ faces told me something was wrong. I was red. Really, really red.

Those friends, doctors none, provided rapid-fire advice. Get a cold wash cloth. Get the aloe. Get some vinegar. Get some Noxema.

It’s possible I did all of those things, then went to bed. Did I mention it was the day before prom?

When I woke up the next morning, I could not open my eyes. My lips were blistered. The skin under my eyes was blistered. A quick trip to the doctor brought a serious scolding, but he assured my mother I hadn’t done serious damage to my eyes, which was her first concern.

Throughout the day, she muttered angrily every time she walked past me, lying on the couch, cold wash cloth and vinegar beside me.

About 5 p.m., I got in the shower, then got ready for prom. I curled my hair, careful to avoid getting too close to my sunburned hairline. Makeup was not only impossible, but unnecessary.

I know of one photo that exists of me from that night, and it’s a doozy – and not in a good way.

So maybe these proms I cover are my own little do-overs, 45 years later. No uncomfortable high heels and no light blue eyeshadow?

I’ll take it.

p.s.: Wear sunscreen