Prom is an opportunity to feel like a real princess. Many girls prepare for it as if it were their wedding, choosing a special dress, makeup, and hairstyle long before the event. We think it’d be fun to see how graduates of different eras from around the world looked during their prom.
“My mom and the prom dress my grandmother made, 1965”
“Here’s my grandmother in the prom dress her mother made for her. This photo was probably taken in or around 1953.”
“My aunt and uncle at their prom, 1971 — she still looks amazing.”
“Prom 1959 to 2022: Grandma is still serving looks.”
“My parents at prom in 1992”
“Rocking into prom (1988)! I still laugh when looking at this photo.”
“My grandma, posing in her homemade prom dress in the mid-1940s”
“My mom and dad at their prom, 1986 — I will always want her dress.”
“My great-grandmother at her high school prom, I believe it was 1948.”
“My prom in 1993: the helmet hair, the sequins, the black pumps, the press-on nails”
“My grandma winning prom queen, May 1957”
“My grandmother’s senior prom photo, early 1960s”
“My grandparents at their prom (late 1940s) and on their wedding day (1950)”
“That time in 1989 when I was short and had a mullet, and my buddy took a soap star to prom.”
“My grandma, ready for prom, 1959 — she actually made that dress.”
“My mom’s prom, 1976”
“My grandparents at their senior prom in 1958 — I think they look so sharp!”
“Big hair prom, 1988 — thank gosh my hair didn’t catch on fire. It was so flammable!”
“My nana’s prom picture, circa 1942 — I inherited her lovely ginger locks.”
“My mom at her prom in 1973”
Speaking of the last century, we decided to recall what was happening back in 1989, when the Internet had just been invented
My Brother Kicked Our Grandma out Because She Had No Money Left – She Taught Him a Lesson He Will Never Forget
When my brother Paul kicked Grandma Eleanor out for not contributing financially, I took her in, driven by love and loyalty. As she rebuilt her life and found unexpected success, Paul’s regret surfaced, but I wondered if it would be enough to mend our broken bonds.
“Rachel, I can’t keep doing this,” Paul said, slamming his cup down on the table. “She’s costing too much.”
“Paul, she’s our grandmother. She raised us, remember?” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I could see the tension in his jaw, the frustration in his eyes.
“That was then. Things are different now,” he said, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t bring anything to the table anymore. She just sits there, painting and wasting time.”
“Those paintings mean something to her,” I said. “And they could mean something to us if we let them.”
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