“There is a secret side to Mardi Gras that most people never get to see. For the krewe members, the masked (people) on the floats, the end of the parade route is where the real party begins at a private ball” said author Rebbecca Snedeker.

Powdered women with rouge lips and colorful dresses glided to seats are accompanied by groomed men in tuxedoes. Green, gold and purple lights glowed on the stage’s silky curtains while the orchestra played violins and blew on horns.

I was Cinderella, transformed from an ordinary college student into the Krewe of Iris ball invitee, living out my wildest dreams, as the ball’s theme proclaimed.

I was thrust into Mardi Gras Disneyland with witches grasping broomsticks, china dolls streaming ribbons, carpet riders sailing through the air and the royal court glittering in exotic feathered costumes. I lost myself in the emotion of the ceremony. I bowed to Mardi Gras royalty, admired the graceful debutantes, grabbed at raining beads and even posed with the king and queen.

The ball’s magic ended once my dress poofed into a sweater with faded jeans and the ballroom’s silky curtains became my dorm’s cramped and peeling walls.

As I tossed and turned in bed, I reflected on the wonderful night that I would never experience again. I missed the decked-out elegance, elite formality and creative sophistication of the ball. I missed the smiles when the queen was presented, the grins when children dressed as pages curtsied with every pause of the king and queen’s footsteps; but mostly, I missed feeling privileged, feeling a part of a closeted world not open to the public.

The reality is I am not affiliated with a krewe, let alone from New Orleans. I have no connections through friends. I have no money to bribe a krewe. I am just a broke college kid forced to survive on Wolfbucks and a meal plan. So how did I, penniless pauper, join the ranks of the Mardi Gras elite? Simply because of my Sociology of Mardi Gras class, where opportunities are always flowing in.

The sad truth is many people, just like me, will never get to attend a ball unless they have money and are willing to spend it, or are associated with krewes. Most krewe balls are still by invitation only, and even those open to the public can get pricey.

Krewes like Endymion cost $155 per person and you have to have a partner. Other krewes like Orpheus cost $135 per person. Even the Krewe of Zulu’s ball, which is one of the cheapest with a $100 fee to get in, requires, like all other krewe balls, that men wear tuxedoes and women wear floor-length dresses. If you do not have a tuxedo or a fancy dress handy in your dorm closet, you will obviously not be enjoying Frankie Beverly and Maze this year.

Everyone should experience a krewe ball, but not everyone is Cinderella. Tickets should cost less or raffles should be held. For many though, a Mardi Gras ball will forever be elusive, only real in their wildest dreams.

Kamaria Monmouth can be reached at [email protected]