Once upon a time when I was 14, I attended my first homecoming dance. My family didn’t have much money then, but somehow my mom managed to buy me the dress Iwanted from the trendy teen store – a purple satin number with silver flowers in the Asian style that was popular in the 90s, before the idea of cultural appropriation was a thing. I felt like I had arrived in that dress, and I confidently left to meet my friends at the dance.That night I discovered that some of my friends’ families didn’t have much money, either. One arrived in a denim jumper, but she didn’t seem to think anything of it, and went about mingling with the crowd. But one friend arrived in a black velvet dress that was a touch off-trend and what 14-year-olds of the day would’ve considered a bit childish in style. This friend was clearly not happy with what she was wearing and said so. I thought she looked nice, but I was concerned the dress was going to keep her from having a good time, so I desperately searched my brain for something I could say that would make her feel better about it. My adolescent solution was to take her over to the friend in the jumper and say, “See? She’s wearing that and it’s fine. Your dress looks great!” Later in the evening I saw my friend in the jumper crying, but she wouldn’t tell me why. It took me until the next summer, after I had moved away, to realize what I had done.