In ‘The Cotillion,’ Black Debutantes Fight to Dance to Their Own Tunes

The room is decked in sultry lighting and quaint chandeliers. A platformed thrust-stage shaped like a four-leaf clover dominates as a centerpiece, while a Black all-female band and chorus further the doowop and bluesy ambience.

But despite the setting and title, The Harriet Holland Social Club Presents the 84th Annual Starburst Cotillion in the Grand Ballroom of the Renaissance Hotel—or The Cotillion for short (A.R.T./New York Theatres through May 27)—is not simply about a glamorous night out, but instead sketches the intricate dichotomy of being a Black woman—possessing Black pride and a sense of self while battling branches of white supremacy and self-hate.

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In the play, written and directed by Colette Robert, the audience becomes part of the production as active viewers, awaiting the start of a debutante ball. Historically, cotillions and debutante balls are rites of passage ceremonies for Black girls after being trained for so-called womanhood and presented with proper etiquette techniques. At the end of the debutantes’ schooling, which could take months, the young women are presented to society to showcase their new, refined selves.

In an interview with The Daily Beast, Robert said the idea of seeing “Black women, Black girls in ball gowns” came to her about 10 years ago after reading about the history of dance in New Orleans. One historical account of a slave auction peaked Robert’s interest. In that particular incident, she said the slave auction nearly operated like a pageant.

“At this one hotel in New Orleans, they would dress the enslaved people up and then make them do a dance to prove their vitality that sort of increased their value,” Robert said, adding that white spectators would gather around as if it was a form of live entertainment. “There’s something similar about [slave auctions and debutante balls],” Robert continued. “It just made me think…about how Black girls and Black women are sort of presented and valued.”

The Cotillion presents Black American classism, colorism, and sexism on a silver-plated platter. The show begins with an introduction of the characters: the supportive women participating on the sidelines in the pageantry, the orchestrators of the dog-and-pony show, and then the vulnerable pawns who are subjected to perpetuating all of those toxic and unavoidable schisms within the Black community.

“Black cotillions served a different purpose than their white analogues, which presented daughters in hopes of finding suitable husbands,” a bulletin reads just outside the Mezzanine at the A.R.T./New York Theatres. “They were an effort on the part of wealthy African Americans to show off the Black community in a dignified manner.”

In The Cotillion, the audience meets six up-and-coming ladies of society. Initially, they’re loving the sparkle of it all: bonding over their teenage experiences and interests, dishing over each other’s dresses and the styling of their hair. But eventually, the facade fades. After the girls metaphorically go backstage following each onstage presentation, they shed their emotionally defensive armor as more dirt and scandal comes out regarding the process.

The cotillion dwindles as one debutante slowly leaves after another. The audience discovers Dominique (Monique St. Cyr) is trying to mask inner turmoil after her mother—a former debutante—passed away from cancer. Debutante Melissa (Starr Kirkland) comes from a line of cotillion winners, and she’s feeling the pressure that she won’t be one of them.

Lindsey (Aigner Mizzelle) comes to terms with the fact that she’s not the traditional type of woman society would like her to be—despite how caring and delicate she is—and bows out after realizing her sexuality and search for identity would complicate things. Shellie (Claire Fort) exits after learning during backstage chatter that the father of the current president (Akyiaa Wilson) bribed members for his daughter’s successful Star-Burst win in 1997.

Brown-skinned debutantes Kimberly (Caturah Brown) and Alicia (Portland Thomas) are left at the end of the competition, but discover that the whole thing was rigged for a lighter—and more affluent—debutante to win, despite members of the social club voting for Kimberly.

“For years, we’ve told girls, we’ve told them if they talk right and walk right, and go to the right schools, that’ll protect them,” Emcee (Jehan O. Young) tells the cotillion audience once everything crumbles onstage.

Reminiscent of the performative nature of the woman who does announcements at practically every Black church, the Emcee undergoes the most visible changes during The Cotillion. She has so much faith in the process, and is angry that she’s the vice president of the social club rather than the president. She takes pride in the girls and their development, but her attitude shifts when she realizes it’s the politics at the heart of the system. A process supposedly meant to better well-to-do Black people may do more harm than good.

“I’m always struck by the Emcee’s complicity and rebellion in her navigating between those two poles,” Young told The Daily Beast during an interview with castmates. She claimed her character juggles between two worlds.

“[It’s a] high-wire act, but also it’s an act that’s quite common for those in the pursuit of affluence and influence, especially on behalf of [Black] culture,” she said.

Her castmates jumped in, adding that Black women constantly have to battle with a sense of duality. “Approaching duality as a Black woman actor is quite regular, like part of the DNA,” Mizzelle said to a series of laughter from the other women.

“Among her debutante colleagues, [Lindsey] seems to be the most aware of the system that's working on her. So, the play follows the ways in which she can no longer sustain herself…under these circumstances, under these rules,” Mizzelle added of her character.

Lindsay, like many Black women, comes across as if she knew she was never going to be seen as good enough. Despite her delicate nature, maternal and caring instincts for her fellow debutantes, and soft approach, she finds herself overshadowed by the derogatory trope of Black women never being feminine enough—of being perceived as too aggressive and hard.

“She can’t hold it together anymore because the system, or the cotillion, is no longer seeing her for who she is growing up to be,” Mizzelle said.

As a Black woman in my mid-thirties, so much from The Cotillion resonated within me. Growing up in a predominantly Black community but without access to resources of the Black elite, I didn’t realize about my so-called missed opportunities until I went away to college. My mother has repeatedly come to me in my adulthood apologizing for not finding a way for me to have the cotillion experience. Fortunately, I found avenues that the women before me did not have the privilege of experiencing, while, unfortunately, also feeling shame for my family’s lack of privilege.

Near the end of The Cotillion, Madam President delivers a beautiful monologue that eloquently illustrates the dynamics of being a Black woman in America. The Black woman, deemed gracious, seemingly has to prove so-called Black excellence, while simultaneously being forced to shun aspects of her culture.

“You know that old adage: If you’re Black, and especially if you’re a Black woman, you have to be twice as good as everyone else to get half as much,” Madam President says. “That is true. But on top of all of the hard work and forced smiles and blood and tears, there’s also distance. The distance that you have to put between yourself and others. Even, maybe especially, from those who look like you… You look and act like that, and you lose.”

By this point, the audience has expected that the entire system has shattered due to Madam President’s completely unhinged rant about Black tokenism. But one debutante returns.

“[Kimberly’s] financial status is not like the other girls. Everybody knows that. She’s different [from] all these influential people that are in this crowd,” Brown said, adding that her character had more to gain by going back after the cotillion fell apart.

“That moment of [Kimberly’s] return at the end of the play is so chilling,” Young said. “It’s so chilling because you think you’ve witnessed a breakthrough, but then reality comes crashing down on everyone.”

I found part of myself in Kimberly. She did not have the resources like her fellow debutantes, and, therefore, had a different fight. After the other girls left, she went back onstage as if she was willing to accept the award as the cotillion’s Star-Burst, regardless of the system’s evils. She knew that she had to utilize it for her own sense of growth.

“We are, I think as Black women in society, walking that tightrope line all the time and it always feels like any gains we have made can be ripped away from us at any second,” Wilson added, foretelling what’s to come of Kimberly’s adult character. “The very end of the play is chilling and disappointing in the moment, but… Kim becomes a success. She has used the system against itself and discarded it.”

“Everybody’s surviving in their own way and with their own methods. You can say all of the deb[utantes] are survivors, depending on what it is that they want out of this or what it is that they want in life,” Brown said. “As Black women, the goal is to survive in this very scary and oppressive world. We just have different ways of doing it.”

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