Originally published in USA Today, March 19, 2007

By Mary Zeiss Stange

Imagine an evening of candlelight and roses, fancy food and formal dress and ballroom dancing, all in celebration of a promise of loving commitment.

Across the country, growing numbers of conservative Christian evangelicals are staging just such gala affairs. They are called purity balls, and they celebrate the father-daughter bond. Tuxedo-clad dads promise to "war for" their daughters' "purity," as reported in February's Glamour magazine. Daughters, in turn, vow abstinence until marriage. The fathers slip "purity rings" on the fingers of their misty-eyed daughters, the elegantly attired couples drift across the floor for a "first dance," this one-on-one time with Dad is referred to as a "date," and wedding cake is served for dessert. For post-dinner entertainment, a corps of adolescent ballerinas clad in white tulle performs a "ceremonial dance" to the song "Always Be Your Baby."

Purity balls are the latest outgrowth—and, occurring this year in 48 states and several other countries, arguably the cutting edge—of what some evangelical Christians call the Purity Revolution, or the wait-until-marriage movement. It is estimated that perhaps 10% of adolescent boys and 16% of girls have signed virginity pledges at church rallies and Christian rock concerts. They wear "chastity couture"—T-shirts and underwear emblazoned with slogans such as "I'm waiting" and "Virginity Lane: Exit When Married." They blog on MySpace and abstinence.net. Virginity, for them, is cool.

In theory, anyway. According to the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health, the most comprehensive survey so far of teenage sexual activity, more than half of these same teens will have sex—likely risky and unprotected—within a few years of taking the pledge. Close to 90% will have sexual intercourse before marriage. Pep-rally fervor notwithstanding, when it comes to abstinence, it might be best not to leave adolescents to their own devices.

Where it all started

This is where purity balls come in. Randy and Lisa Wilson, parents of seven (five girls), originated the purity ball at their Generations of Light ministry in Colorado Springs in 1998. Their mission is to preserve girls' chastity by building healthy father-daughter relationships. According to Randy Wilson, "If the father isn't involved, our daughters are left to navigate through relationships and culture by themselves." Borrowing the phrase from author Meg Meeker, he says it is the father's job to protect his daughter from the "pimp culture" that turns young women into sex objects, pressuring them to become sexually active.

Wilson surely has a point. Studies repeatedly show that girls benefit in their mental and emotional development in direct proportion to quality time spent with their fathers. And few would dispute that the sexual objectification of women plays a major role in distorting both adolescent girls' self-perceptions and their sexual behaviors.

Yet there is something profoundly disturbing about these purity balls and all they represent. They reflect, and worse, they romanticize, several of the most pernicious aspects of patriarchal religion. From their inception, Wilson envisioned them as events where young girls "could walk into everything that their femininity is about, their beauty, their dress, their makeup." Daddy's little girl—and some of them are little indeed, ages 10 and up—gets to dress up and be treated like a "princess," often with reference to Psalm 45:13: "All glorious is the princess within."

But the pampering comes at the price of her sexual self-agency. Many of these girls are pledging away something they don't even understand they have. Those old enough to comprehend the pledge they are making to dear old Dad know they are literally placing their sexuality in his hands. Daddy's little girl is his baby, until he hands her off to her husband. Another of those "chastity chic" T-shirts, distributed by California-based Wait Wear, proclaims: "Notice: No Trespassing on this Property. My Father Is Watching."

The stigma of sex

Underlying this whole business, of course, is the age-old assumption that sex is dirty: hence the infantilizing conflation of "purity," or sexual innocence, and ignorance. It's up to fathers to "model purity" for their daughters. If fathers are not up to the task, other males might step in: A typical purity ball invitation, such as the one for this October's Fifth Annual Father/Daughter Purity Ball sponsored by Arizona Baptist Children's Services in Tucson, specifies that a "guardian, mentor, grandfather or youth leader" may take the father's role. Brothers, uncles and cousins may, as well.

Mothers, meanwhile, are nearly invisible and largely irrelevant. They are welcome to attend. But questioned as to their role, Randy Wilson—who tours the country lecturing on "Father Power" and whose books include one subtitled Tying Your Children's Heartstrings to the Truth—responds, "The mother's role is to enjoy the event and to support the father's commitment to integrity in their homes."

Similar in spirit to Promise Keepers, the evangelical men's leadership movement whose motto is "Men of Integrity," this Purity Revolution puts women and girls in their place, and that place is defined by, and subordinate to, the men in their lives.

But the assumption that the father is the Lord's stand-in in the household is as dangerous as is the idea that his "undefiled" daughter is a princess.

No girl is her father's property. Nor should any young woman be placed in a position where she could risk unsafe sex, or unplanned pregnancy, or the guilt of breaking a promise to a parent, only to say, "I pledged my virginity to Dad, and now all I've got is this lousy T-shirt."

Mary Zeiss Stange is professor of women's studies and religion at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, N.Y. She is a member of USA Today 's board of contributors.


©2007 USA Today