The Prombies: Dressing teenage boys for prom in the rural Southwest

For a long time, I was afraid of teenage boys. My high school experience was not one of bullying by jocks or “cool kids.” After being tormented in grade school, my small prep school in Philly was welcoming. I was a cool kid. We didn’t have jocks, as the school was academic in nature. Sports were regulated to exercise or soccer in a local park. 

That park, I later learned, was once a gay cruising spot. Called, affectionately, Judy Garland Park.  

I was not the closeted boy only welcomed by girls. I had lots of straight guy friends. After I came out and embraced being a twink in Manhattan, I noticed something: If I was on the subway and a group of teenage boys got on, I put my head down. 

I’m a history nerd, when reading Antonia Fraser’s biography of Elizabeth I on the subway, I’d peel the cover back. Walking through the city was no different. If I was walking headfirst into a group of teenage boys I’d duck into a doorway. There was an urban legend that skateboards were used to gay bash. So, any boys with skateboards made me panic. Later, I got on my Nokia pretending to have a conversation.

In my current day job, I sell clothes at the town’s only department store. This is my third year in the Four Corners selling menswear. Teenage boys shopping for prom purchase their suits ready to wear. Rarely will they order a custom design. Where would they wear it after prom? 

Imagine my surprise when selling a custom suit for a teenage auctioneer: 

“Oh, we love antiques!”

“No, sir, cattle auction. If you need a cow, come see me.”

Currently, but maybe later, we don’t need a cow. 

Last year, I sold about 100 suits. As we enter prom season the number should be roughly the same. Generally these are nice, church-going lads. Except for one boy from last year who asked if I could measure him “down there.” I felt that panic from the subway. 

Most of the young men come in with mom or dad. One father said no to anything slim fit. “After LDS prom,* he’s going on mission. He doesn’t need slim cuts.” Yet, the father bought the slim cut, as it looked best. 

*To readers raised LDS, I did not know a separate LDS prom was a thing.

Yesterday, at closing, I had a group of several boys. Their alpha was there for a suit. He wore dirty baseball pants, two had swim team goggles around their necks. Jocks!

I call them Prombies. Instead of saying “brains” they just say “prom.” They have all the braggadocio of a boulevardier or flâneur. Words describing the main character in my favorite novel “Bel ami” by Guy de Maupassant. 

Not a certain adult film company.

Prombie also comes from my asking them to make “zombie arms” to see if the cuff on the jacket is the right length. 

“How can I help you, fellas?” 

This species responds well to fellas. Maybe my use of the word makes them know I was once a teenage boy. 

Another boy, this one wearing a Broncos tee-shirt, responded.

“My buddy needs a suit for prom. You helped me last year. Can you…” here was my trigger,  “…measure him? He got bigger.”

I flashed back to the nasty kid from last year and must have looked panicked. 

“His chest. He wants a fitted suit this year.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was he respectful but the alpha looking for a suit turned around and smiled. His “girl” wanted him to wear something new.

I didn’t want to use my tape measure. I’d have to wrap the tape around his chest. What if being polite was a ruse? I guessed his chest measurement, handing him a 42R. Perfect fit. 

His other friend, with a diamond in his nose, asked to be measured. I wondered, was he their gay friend? I don’t measure the inseams of teenage boys. I do the inseam by process of elimination. Because a chest measurement for suits is neutral territory. As nice as my rural customers are, I refrain from inseams. I don’t want any conservative father screaming, “Why’d you stick your tape measure in my son’s crotch?” 

The boys continued their banter. “He can’t dress right. When he comes outta the dressing room tell’im he looks awful. Then, get the ugliest tie you have. Tell’im he looks great!” 

The next 10 minutes or so I felt like one of the boys. The golden laughter of their boyhoods recalled the remembered peals of my own.  

“So, It’s cheaper to rent, right,” asked the alpha with no taste in clothes. 

“No, it costs more,” Look at me, dropping knowledge.

“See, I told you,” said my repeat customer. “Sebastian knows his shit.” 

Buying your first suit, represents growing from boys into young men. We can say cis-gendered young men. But I’ve also measured suits for gender non-conforming women for prom. So, for this, and our reality, we’ll say it’s a right of passage for teenagers who like suits. 

And, I’m no longer afraid of teenage boys.