After 25-odd years of photographing le Bal des Débutantes at the behest of AIR MAIL’s loyally committed co-editor Graydon Carter, I wonder if he should be so committed. Or whether, given my encouragement and complicity, we might both be candidates for an asylum attended by debutantes. Inasmuch as my enduring presence raises questions, I’ve become an unquestionable fixture at le Bal.
The uninitiated usually ask a more conspicuous question: Why does le Bal survive, let alone thrive and manage to outdo itself each year, in a Zeitgeist seemingly infertile to such tradition? I scratch my head while heading off to Paris every Thanksgiving for another round. The answer always surprises me upon arrival.
