Where Kids Put Down Their Phones and Pick Up the Correct Fork

New York Times

30-06-2025

Visuals by Eli Durst
Text by Dina Gachman One Austin mother bribed her daughter with acrylic nails. Another promised her child a few shopping trips if she'd just give it a chance. Enticing a modern-day tween to attend cotillion classes, something that sounds as outdated as calling a refrigerator an icebox or using finger bowls to cleanse the hands before petit fours are served, requires a little finesse.
The fifth and final class of the Southwest Austin Cotillion season had a dinner and dance at the Hyatt Regency in Austin, in April. Clusters of boys in crumpled suits and sneakers avoided gaggles of girls in shiny minidresses until someone announced that it was time for the 'ladies and gentlemen' to line up and head inside the ballroom, girls on one side, boys on the other. The word cotillion comes from group dances that became popular in 18th-century France and England. The tradition spread to America, and one of the longest-running cotillion programs in the country, the Martine Cotillions, started teaching classes in Chicago in 1857. During the Gilded Age in New York, a cotillion dance like the Patriarch's Ball at Delmonico's marked the start of the 'social season.'
More formal affairs persist at some country clubs in Dallas or Atlanta, but in places like Austin or Des Moines or Denver, where the national organization JDW Cotillions is based, the experience is less about ushering in the social season and more about teaching middle schoolers things like eye contact, table manners, and how to do the cha-cha or the waltz. 'Something switched along the way,' said Cella Morales, the executive director at JDW who was M.C. the night of the Hyatt event. According to Morales, the goal of cotillion shifted 'from social expectation and adherence to that of social opportunity and confidence.'
Compared to classes and events and some locations in the South today, 'Austin is significantly more relaxed,' Morales said. JDW partners with local cotillions across the country, like the one in southwest Austin, to bring in teachers and share their curriculum. Even though the expectations and rules aren't as rigid as they were 100 years ago, JDW sessions have a strict no electronics policy during the classes and the balls. 'My goal is to give kids tools to get out of their heads and off their phones, whether they're at a supermarket or a social event,' Morales said. At the Hyatt, the participants practiced holding their utensils 'like a surgeon holds a scalpel,' as Morales instructed them to do from the podium.
Caleb Soileau, a sixth grader, admitted that, thanks to cotillion, he'd gotten two compliments from servers at restaurants who noticed the way he folded his napkin and placed his knife and fork just so to indicate he was finished with his meal. When asked what he was looking forward to at the dance that evening, though, he said that he was 'excited about leaving.'
Tweens from each grade, sixth through eighth, took turns pairing up to demonstrate the dances they'd learned. In between tentative jitterbug or waltz steps (not to Chopin but to George Strait's 'You Look So Good in Love'), the kids rotated partners. As relaxed as some modern cotillion classes may be, they still sometimes rely on traditional gender roles, like 'gentlemen leading the ladies to their seats,' or only allowing boys to dance with girls. If there weren't enough boys to go around, a girl had to stand alone, and wait. Cody and Deborah Fisher, a married couple of former educators, started a small local company, Austin Cotillion, around 2016. 'As the pandemic persisted, we saw more and more kids struggling with loneliness, depression and social anxiety,' Ms. Fisher said. The couple wanted to give kids in their community the chance to learn social skills and build confidence.
The Fishers' classes aren't traditional. They incorporate magic or games to keep drifting minds engaged. They also do not enforce strict gender codes. 'Our cotillion is for everybody,' Mr. Fisher said. 'We don't check birth certificates.'
JDW's Morales said they try to modernize their classes as well. For example, boys don't always have to be the ones leading the dances. 'We urge girls to lead sometimes,' she said. 'They will grow up to be C.E.O.'s and lawyers and businesswomen, so they need to learn confidence.'
At the Hyatt event, butter was smeared onto dinner rolls and groups of friends mugged in front of a selfie station framed by an arch of pastel balloons. During the free dance, girls jumped up and down to Dua Lipa's 'Dance the Night' and boys tackled each other as their parents held up phones and recorded the mayhem from the sidelines. These kids will probably not grow up to send calligraphed thank you notes written on embossed family letterhead, but they might send an eloquent thank you text or look someone in the eyes during a conversation instead of staring at their phone. At the end of the night, Melissa Pardue watched her seventh-grade daughter, Greer, from the side of the dance floor. Pardue attended a more formal cotillion as a girl in Dallas, but said this version is 'not so stuffy.'
'People think it's a rich person's thing but it's like 200 bucks,' Pardue said. 'It's not a big country club experience. During an awkward season of their lives, this teaches kids skills that will help them when they're older.'
Mae McAleer, a sixth grader who used to roll her eyes every time her mom tried to teach her some manners, wore a bright blue dress and giggled with her friends. 'It's been pretty good,' she said of the cotillion experience. And then she confessed something that few middle schoolers would ever dare to admit. 'My mom was right.'
Produced by Jolie Ruben and Josephine Sedgwick.