Most people have a terrible misconception of what Mardi Gras is (thank you, Tulane Tik Tok). They assume it’s a rave: six inch, thigh-high, metallic boots with a bikini and a baggie of psychedelics to match. You run on Monster and New Amsterdam vodka for a month. You live on Bourbon street. Now, I’m sure that’s what plenty of Tulane kids do, and that’s why many locals dislike them.
For someone that’s been hanging out with Tulane kids since high school, I should probably cut them some slack, right? Wrong! It’s crucial for every small-ish city to criticize the local university’s out-of-state students. 🙂 If you have an issue with this, take it up with complainiac@sunbleacht.com.
However, I, of course, am slightly hypocritical on occasion, Mardi Gras being one. When I go to the French Quarter, I do it in a local way to enjoy music — when Tulane kids go to the French Quarter, it’s annoying, disruptive, and uncool. When I crowded Amelia street at 15 it was because it was “the spot” — when Tulane kids do it now, it’s because they don’t respect the city. However, I don’t wear a g-string one-piece around families with kids (this happened last year at a party I threw, that my brother, a toddler, was at), so maybe I’m not that much of a hypocrite. Mardi Gras is a family event and it must be treated as such! Walking down St. Charles during day parades is everything but a rave, but more of a neighborhood block party — we watched Tucks next to two cribs with newborns in them, gnawing on plastic beads and drinking Grenades from their bottles.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 12
My friends and I flew into New Orleans on February 11th for the Hermes ball (like the Greek god, not the brand) on the 12th. The morning consisted of prepping, but the night started with a champagne party. While my friends were wandering in a sea of well-dressed New Orleanians, I was in the back rooms of the Hyatt regency with my parents, listening to the court’s speeches. A Mardi Gras court consists of the people who will be presented that year: the king, queen, the pages, the ladies in waiting, the maids (debutantes), and the previous year’s returning queen and maid court. When the ball starts, the guests find their seats facing the stage — with the women sitting and men standing — and then the court members get presented one-by-one, in a specific order, with trumpet intermissions. As a returning maid, I just did a brief walk across the stage with my dad and then sat off to the side. Last year, I had to walk in three circles and stand in front of 500 people for 45 minutes with one broken foot in a boot, the other in a white Prada kitten heel. And a smile! When I started walking up the stairs of the stage, I, Cinderella style, lost my heel. By some miracle I was able to get my foot back into my shoe, pretending I was doing an extra long curtsy.
The best part of any Mardi Gras ball is the fashion. For Hermes, women are required to wear floor-length gowns that cover their heels and white elbow-length gloves — other than that, it’s up to the gal herself. Gowns range from straight, black gowns, to neon pink gowns with open backs, to frilly, flowery, lacey gowns, to gowns with fake shards of gold and reflective glass (as my gorgeous mom famously wore a few years ago). Men wear black suits with “tails,” which make them look like penguins. Men that are part of the court wear white, orange, and gold costumes with feathers and masks, hiding them in anonymity. The pages — boys around six-years old — wear all-white outfits with a feathered hat, a blonde wig, blue eyeshadow, and red lipstick. A universal moment for a New Orleans middle schooler is finding a photo of your then-crush during his page-era. The king also wears a blonde wig. The queen wears a beautiful, bejeweled crown and dress, with a long, bedazzled train which two pages have to maneuver behind her. But different krewes have different dress codes — when I was in high school, I went to a ball where all the high school boys that were on the court had to dress up as jesters.
After the ceremony, the krewe invites the guests onto the stage for photos, and then we all toddle off to dinner. We found our names on a seating chart, a glass of celebratory champagne, and our way to the table. We sat with my best family friend and his SMU friends, who are always fun to get to know because both parties are culture-shocked by the others’ university life. The dinner consisted of an immediately-devoured charcuterie board appetizer; a salad; a great steak, crab cake, and mashed potato dinner; and a king cake for dessert. Along with a drink or two – it is Mardi Gras, after all.
I have always preferred to keep a small group of friends over a big one. Watching my childhood best friends meet my New York best friends — and all get along so well — was awesome: I’m lucky to have had a successful friend group merge. Friendships are funny. Nothing much has changed about me from the time I was 11, and if anything, I’m almost exactly like the person that 11 year old me envisioned, minus neon purple hair. I am still friends with the girls I was friends with at 11, and when I see photos of my college friends at that age, I know we would’ve all been friends. Nights of endless Minecraft and Shane Dawson videos must not have been as unique as I thought at the time.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 13
We spent the night at the Hyatt, and in the morning all got ready for the Hermes brunch at Antoine’s. Antoine’s is one of the old, classic French Quarter restaurants, and the traditional host of the Hermes brunch; many old classic restaurants host other krewes’ brunches. To avoid Mardi Gras traffic, we went on a nice stroll through the New Orleans Central Business District into the Quarter, and were blessed with the most phenomenal weather. All of our family friends had a table near each other at brunch, and it was great to see everyone, especially since many of my family friends had yet to meet my New York friends, or hadn’t seen my childhood friends since… Well, childhood. My godfather jokingly brought over all of our same-age, male friends to try to set them up with my New Yorkers. Mimosas flowed, baguettes were buttered, steaks were cut, dessert plates were cleared. We took some champagne to go (thank you, open can laws), and headed over to my godfather’s store a few blocks away. We spent a few hours there hanging out with even more family friends, and my heart was full to the brim — nothing beats Southern charm and the chattiest people ever in one spot.
A long nap followed the morning festivities, but then I had a party to co-host. We all got ready and headed over to our garage in River Ridge, where we were throwing a party with the SMU kids. The night consisted of finding out more university culture shocks from chatting with them, fake bartending, and explaining that I was in-fact a co-host, not a frat guy’s plus-one. After the party, Becky and I headed to The Boot to party with Tulane kids (I go to The Boot in a local way, not to be mistaken for a ruckus-causing Tulane kid!), and then eating leftover, cold pizza in my kitchen.
They say Mardi Gras is a marathon, not a sprint — unfortunately, we sprinted. Saturday and Sunday were relaxed and consisted of taking my brother to parades, life-changing sushi, crappy reality TV, and 24,000 steps around Uptown New Orleans.
I spent years admiring every aspect of New Orleans, finding what I liked and didn’t. This has probably made me an okay tour guide, as my friends have been telling me they “know what it means to miss New Orleans” – a reference to the 1947 lyric by Eddie DeLange and, more famously, the magnet on my fridge. I truly believe that everyone should visit New Orleans at some point in their lives, and I’m glad I was able to bring my friends — who haven’t spent much time in the South — to the best city in it. It’s a place full of artists, musicians, writers, students, and families. It’s a place that lacks judgment and does not lack a loving community; it’s culturally dense and requires much more than one visit — more coming soon. 😉
Sunbleacht 
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