Ultimate fiesta

The traditional quinceañera coming-of-age ceremony has mutated into an elaborate spectacle -- supported by a multimillion-dollar industry. But who's going to pay?

Editor's note: The following essay is excerpted from "Once Upon a Quinceanera: Coming of Age in the USA" by Julia Alvarez and published by Viking Press, © 2007 by Julia Alvarez. By permission of Susan Bergholz Literary Services. All rights reserved.

By Julia Alvarez

Read more: Teenagers, Latinos, Life

July 30, 2007 | At the Quinceañera Expo at the Airport Convention Center in San Antonio, little girls are walking around with tiaras in their hair, oohing and aahing the fancy dresses, the pink balloons, the wedding-cake-size cakes, the last dolls encased in plastic, the fluffy pillows with straps for securing the heels in case the page trips as he bears them to the altar to be blessed by the priest.

At a cordoned-off area at the rear of the hall, Victoria Acosta, a fourteen-year old local pop sensation, is singing into a microphone as she dances and gestures with her free hand. "Crazy, crazy, crazy, I think the world's gone crazy!" Her next song, "Once Upon A Time," is dedicated to "all of you out there who have had your hearts broken." "All of you out there" is a semi-circle of pudgy pre-teens sitting on the floor, mesmerized by the slender, glamorous Victoria with her long mascara'd lashes, her glittery eye shadow, her slinky black outfit and sparkly silver tie. "You bet I'm going to have a quince," she tells me during a break between songs, although I don't see why. She seems to have already made her passage into womanhood quite successfully.

There isn't a male shopper in sight. In fact, the only men around are manning booths or working the floor: a couple of boy models, one in a white tuxedo with a pale pink vest, the other in a white suit with a yellow vest; a grown man in a military uniform, a popular escort outfit with some girls, he tells me; a dj in a cowboy hat plays loud music while his sidekick, a skinny boy, hands out flyers; Seve, the clown (who come to think of it might be female under all that face paint and bulbous, attached nose); Dale of Awesome Ice Designs (for $350 you can have the "Fire & Ice Sculpture" with the quinceañera's picture embedded in a central medallion of ice); Ronny of VIP Chocolate Fountains whose wife, Joanne, does most of the talking. (Did you know that you can run chili con queso through the fountains for a Mexican theme at your daughter's quinceañera? The young people still prefer chocolate, as you can imagine); and Tony Guerrero, the owner of Balloons Over San Antonio ("We Blow for u").

Add the two photographers at Tilde (Photography, Invitations, Videography), Mr. Acosta (Victoria's manager-dad), the guy with a Starbucks urn strapped to his back, and Manuel Villamil at the Primerica Financial Services booth -- and that makes for just over a dozen men in a crowd of about three hundred women of all ages here to shop for some member of their family's quinceañera. The hall is so girl-packed that the discreetly curtained baby changing/nursing booth seems extraneous. You could breastfeed your baby out in the open and still be within the strict bounds of modesty, like peeing without shutting your stall door in the ladies room because everyone inside except the little toddler in mommy's arms is female.

I feel as if I've wandered into the back room where the femaleness of the next generation of Latinas is being manufactured, displayed, and sold. A throwback vision, to be sure. Lots of pink-lacey-princessy-glittery-glitzy stuff. One little girl wheels a large última muñeca around while her mother follows, carting the baby sister who has ceded her stroller to a doll bigger than she is. "How beautiful!" I bend down to admire the little girl's proud cargo. "Is that for your quince?" The little girl looks pleadingly towards her mom. "It's her cousin's," the mom says, gesturing with her head towards a chunky teenager carting a large shopping bag and lolling at Joanne and Ronny's booth, scooping her toothpick of cake into the chocolate fountain. The little girl looks forlorn. "I'm sure you'll have a last doll, too, when you have your quince," I console her. She gives me a weak smile in return. Why on earth am I encouraging her?

Crazy, crazy, crazy, I think the world's gone crazy.

It's not that. It's that after an hour roaming up and down the aisles, I fall in with the spirit of the expo. There is a contagious, evangelical air to the whole thing that sweeps you up and makes you want to be part of the almost religious fervor that surrounds this celebration. I half expect to see Isabella Martínez Wall, the former Miss Dominican Republic turned so-called "Fairy Godmother of Quinceañeras," addressing a crowd of wide-eyed teens.

In fact, my guide, Priscilla Mora, reminds me of Isabella. Both women share a crusading enthusiasm for a tradition they believe is one of the best things going for Latina womanhood. Plump and pretty with the sunny face of someone perennially in a good mood, Priscilla has organized six of these expos, and even though some have not been as well attended as she would have liked, her faith is undimmed. When not organizing these expos, she is a quinceañera planner, an author of the "Quinceañera Guide and Handbook," and most of all a passionate promoter of the tradition. She actually thought up this business at a workshop where participants had to write down their dreams on little pieces of paper. Then they all put their pieces of paper in a fire and let their dreams go up to God. This isn't just a business, Priscilla explains, it's a calling, part of God's plan for her.

It's from Priscilla that I first hear that when the quinceañera makes her vow in the church, "it's about chastity. You're promising God that you're not going to have sex till you're back at the altar, getting married. That's why it's important that these girls learn all about the meaning," Priscilla insists. Otherwise, the quinceañera "is nothing but a party."

Priscilla's missionary zeal seems to be shared by many of the providers, who tell inspirational stories of why they got involved in quinces. Take Tony Guerrero of Balloons Over San Antonio. Tony grew up real poor in a family of four boys and four girls. ("Are you kidding?" he replies when I ask if the girls had quinceañeras.) A few years ago, Tony gave up his office job to do this because "I just wanted the opportunity to give back something to my community." He loves seeing people having fun, being happy, and hey, if nothing else, "I got myself another entry once I go over to the other side." "Another" because he already has a great aunt over there. "She promised me she was going to have a spot waiting for me." Ruby of Great Expectations (a photography studio) thinks it's "a privilege" to share this special day with a girl. "I love the idea of re-dedicating your life to the Lord." (Echoes of Priscilla.) Curiously, the nuns' booth next to Ruby's is empty. "They told me they were coming." Priscilla looks momentarily nonplussed. But her sunny personality bounces back. "Maybe they'll be by later after mass." This is Sunday, after all. The Sisters, it turns out, are the Missionary Catechists of Divine Providence, the first and only religious order of Mexican-American women founded in the United States. Their focus on the quinceañera is part of their larger mission as "evangelizadoras del barrio and transmitters of a rich Mexican American faith to the universal Church."

Next page: One quinceanera remarked, "If it had to be that cheap, I just wouldn't have one"