When I was a student at school, our teachers ran a weekly Friday evening club called the ¾ Club. Named after the year groups — Year 7 were “Thirds” and Year 8 were “Fourths.” It was the highlight of the week. It encouraged us to behave and it was designed for students in lower Key stage 3 year groups. If you misbehaved at school, you were not allowed to go. Music played in the school hall. The coolest teacher served as DJ. Think radio gaga and Madonna. We had lukewarm squash in plastic cups. Multi-packs of crisps were sold as separates. We also had 10 pence paper bags of gummy sweets on sale. The lights were just low enough to feel exciting, but bright enough to keep mischief at bay. Girls danced in self-conscious clusters. Boys hovered near the walls. It was definitely not like the movies. Parents dropped us off at reception. They also picked us up. Truth be told, the teachers didn’t seem to care – safeguarding in the 80’s was not as it is now. Indeed, we could wander out alone if we chose.
Fast forward to today, and the school prom has become an event of epic proportions. School leaders- myself included at times – use the Prom to bribe and manage the Year 11s in their final countdown to the exam series. Students can earn rewards for attendance at revision sessions, such as discounted entrance tickets. However, poor behaviour can lead to schools disinviting students who are perceived as problematic or trouble. This is such a tough call. Every student should have the right to attend their prom. However, should staff who have to supervise the event be forced to safeguard challenging and difficult young people? Then again who decides who is problematic and worthy or not? Who can actually control attendance anyway?
My own son is currently in Year 11. He is not remotely worried about his GCSE results. But if you ask him about his suit, you’ll get an interested, vested conversation. He knows the colour, the cut, the designer he wants. I suggested we look on Vinted, and, he sneered then laughed at me !
Student events that once cost 50p entry with a “no chewing gum on the dance-floor” rule have transformed into grand affairs. Now, there are chauffeur-driven arrivals and airbrushed makeup. Professionally lit dance-floors and even drones filming overhead footage are part of the scene. And no, the venue is never the school hall anymore.
This isn’t just a party. It’s a milestone, a rite of passage, a mini wedding (sans commitment!)
In some schools, like my son’s, the venue remains a secret until the day before. In others, students vote for it. Tickets can range from £30 to £50 — and that’s just the start. The real costs come with the suits, dresses, nails, lashes, facials, tans, hair, and yes — sometimes even stylists. And it’s not just the girls. Boys now agonise over suit shade and shoe choice. If a couple are attending together? Their outfits must match.
Limos, I’ve been informed, are now passé. Too basic. Tractors, horse-drawn carriages, and even fire engines are the new ride of choice. My favourite transport to date is definitely the ice cream van!
As a principal, I’ve seen students more stressed about what to wear to prom than about their actual exams. Some parents are thrilled while others are frazzled. They fork out hundreds, sometimes thousands, for outfits, photographers, cars, and coordinated friend-group pre-prom dinners. And then there is the after prom party- seriously.
But for many students, it really is that special. Prom is a mark of survival, growth, and the culmination of adolescence. Amid all the glitz, it may be the first time a young person feels truly seen, celebrated, and valued. And they should .
Watching from the sidelines, parents tear up. Teachers beam. These are the young people we’ve watched grow. And on prom night, they glow — in more ways than one.
And Then Came Year 6…
Covid interrupted the first “prom” for my youngest. His Year 6 leavers event in 2020 ended up as a socially distanced picnic in the local park. No suits, no dancefloor — just shorts, trainers, and a scorcher of a July day.
But the Year 6 prom has since become a national fixture. Eleven-year-olds in mini suits and sequinned dresses now celebrate with balloons, speeches, photo booths, and Spotify playlists. What began as a goodbye assembly with ice lollies and photo collages has become a fully fledged event — complete with leavers’ hoodies, and Instagram reels.
Is it adorable? Of course. A bit much? Possibly. But for them, it matters.
And I mean it matters for mums and dads as well as the students. This is their first goodbye. Their first “this chapter ends here.”
The Bigger Picture
As the school disco evolved into the school prom, something deeper changed too. These events reflect our society’s obsession with presentation, social image, and curated perfection. And I worry: are we creating pressure to perform even in celebration? Are we feeding a culture where the outfit matters more than the moment?
But then I remember the student who saved up for her own dress. I recall Georgie G. He was a gorgeous young man who found himself in those final two years of school. He thrived during this time. The pride he carried on prom night was palpable. It was not just in the way he looked. He had confidence in knowing who he was. He stood tall among his peers. He was comfortable in his skin and celebrated for it. It was a moment of quiet triumph, and I was so proud to see him shine.
For all the groups of friends, or not friends, who for one night only belonged. They shared the night, dancing like no-one was watching. In those moments, it’s not about the cost, the cars, the venue. It’s about connection, belonging, and joy.
So yes — the disco might be gone.
But the spirit of celebration is still very much alive.
It just comes with lashes, limos, and a photo booth now.
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