Each year in my hometown of Mobile, AL, fifty high school girls are chosen, on merit, to participate in the 100-year-old court of Azalea Trail Maids. Clad in signature antebellum dresses, their role, a coveted honor, is to act as ambassadors for the town for one year, greeting dignitaries, making appearances at civic events, and “embodying the ideals of Southern Hospitality.” Once their dress is on, however, they generally don’t speak.
Only the brightest young women are selected to be a Trail Maid. In order to be considered, they undergo an extensive interview process for which many have taken classes and rehearsed for years in advance. In addition to excelling academically, they must be able to handle a variety of extracurricular activities, ranging from after-school jobs, to class president, to ROTC.
There is a disconnect between what the dress historically represents and the multidimensional, highly accomplished young women who wear it now. Modeled after the attire of the Southern Plantation era elite, the costumes are seen by the girls as more of a beautiful “princess” dress than a representation of one of the South's darkest eras. Each one is custom made, costing upwards of $6,000 and weighing over 50 pounds, restrictive both literally and figuratively. The only marker of individuality is hidden under four layers of ruffles, where the interchangeable pantaloon pockets are embroidered with inspirational quotes and special tributes to loved ones. Though the gown is the anchor of this tradition, it holds a complicated relationship to modernity.
Despite being selected for their intelligence, these bright, modern young women wear their gowns in smiling silence — a beautiful but troubling reflection of a national conversations on gender and race today.
