Quiceañera proves a dream come true
“A wedding is like, ‘Oh you’re getting married. But a quince is like, ‘Oh you’re growing up.’ ” Lizbeth Gutierrez
As he sets to drawing and displaying fabrics, Lizbeth’s little sister, 4-year-old Arlene, runs wild in the background. It’s not her dress, but it’s become her dream, too. Someday, she fully intends to be sitting where her sister is now; she’s already drumming up the guest list — and wielding it against the injustices of childhood.
“I won’t invite you to my 15,” she threatens whenever she doesn’t get her way.
The daughters of two Mexican immigrants, Lizbeth and her little sister have spent their entire lives in Pasadena.
The teen still blushes when asked about boys, and her typical night involves watching cartoons with her little sister.
But in this dress, she’ll be a woman. She’ll have to come back again for measurements, then for fittings. Benitez lays out a timeline — then lets her try on some dresses to get a feel for it.
Her mother grins wildly and whips out her phone, documenting every moment.
Her father, a landscaper, is at work. He’s not allowed to see the dress until it’s done. The glitter, the glamour — it’ll all be a surprise for him.
But not for Lizbeth; she already knows it’ll be the best bash of her life.
“A wedding is like, ‘Oh you’re getting married,’ ” she says. “But a quince is like, ‘Oh you’re growing up.’ ”
It’s a distinction that feels especially important when you’re 14.
Benitez’s style is about taking chances, trying new things. Creating a pleat in a dress here, a hidden pocket there.
Once, he made a dress out of trash bags and waste.
“There were huge designers coming from Mexico, and I was scared,” he said. “I thought, ‘What am I gonna show? It has to be unique.’ ”
So instead of glitz and glam, he went with plastic — and a splash of crystals.
“And I win,” he said. “I win with trash.”
That was five years ago, but the black and pink gown still sits in the back of his eponymous Bellaire Boulevard store — a reminder of risks taken, rewards won.
When Benitez launched his business stateside more than a decade ago, he didn’t have a backup plan. It was just him, one employee and bolts and bolts of fabric.
His husband, Erick, worked at Walmart, and that income was their safety net.
“I was taking home maybe $50 a week,” Benitez said. “That was how we would have at least one secure check until the business starts.”
Thousands of stitches later, Erick no longer works at Walmart. For the past four years, he’s been a fixture at the store, handling all the glittery beading and handwork. He’s as quiet as his husband is chatty, silently sewing beside the counter while Benitez charms customers and takes measurements.
Benitez is constantly in motion, it seems. Always with another customer, always conjuring up another dress.
But with that hustle, he’s built a small empire out of taffeta and lace. Currently, he has a handful of employees to fill orders that are scheduled all the way into 2019, making dresses that cost up to $8,000.
“Everything that we make is one of a kind,” he said. “We just make one, hang it, and if the girl comes and takes that dress, we don’t make it anymore. The dress that we will make for her is unique. We don’t even have sizes.”
Dresses are more complex than one might imagine.
Just the corset of Lizbeth’s dress has 29 separate sections, Benitez says on an August day in the store’s sewing room. Some add curves, others hide them. But each is cut separately from a painstakingly drawn pattern, a puzzle of chopped and folded paper that somehow fits together in the end.
Benitez starts by clearing the sewing table, swiping piles of pink fabric to the side. He spreads out Lizbeth’s measurements and pulls out an oversized purple calculator, whispering to himself as he punches in numbers.
With a ruler, he marks off vertical lines, then horizontal segments — it looks more like high school geometry homework than the makings of a dress.
“This is her shoulder, see?” he explains as he draws a diagonal line that does not look like a shoulder.
After a few more minutes of plotting, he’s ready to go. The pattern’s a little different than he planned.
“I decided to make changes because I had another employee, and she went with the competition,” he says. “She will go on doing the same style — and that makes a lot of difference, the way that you do your patterns.”
He reaches for a giant pink pair of scissors.
“Mi hija,” he asks one of his seamstresses, “¿dónde está la blush taffeta?”
The event hall is packed, and green and blue lights flit across the darkened dance floor. The tables are draped in pink and gold — the theme colors of this glittery December party.
Benitez flits around the room, a blur of motion toiling to make the night perfect.
There are dancers, an open bar, a buffet, a DJ — and in the center of it all is 15-year-old Lizbeth and her strapless, pink princess dress with a gem-covered bodice.
“You’ll need to retouch your makeup,” her aunt tells her. “How do I do that?” She may be moving into womanhood, but Lizbeth is
still figuring out how to apply makeup and walk in heels. The ninth-grader has changed, though —she no longer blushes when asked about boyfriends; hers is sitting across the room.
She also knows what she wants to do with her life. After high school, Lizbeth will get an associate’s degree from San Jacinto College. With a part-time job, she’ll save to make it through a four-year school and become a nurse.
But for now, she has a teddy bear to dance with.
With Benitez at the helm — playing emcee, organizer and maestro — there’s a full night of festivities ahead. Lizbeth will unwrap a small pile of pink gifts — including at least one gag that draws a roomful of laughs. (It’s an iPhone box — with an actual apple inside.)
She’ll dance with the boys in her honor court, she’ll dance with her father. She’ll dance with her father and a teddy bear sporting a pink dress matching her own.
Her aunt will get teary-eyed, her mother will gush and fill up her phone with more pictures.
And in the background, her little sister will twirl around in a pink dress of her own.
When asked how old she is, she’ll hold up four fingers.
In 11 more years, it’ll be her turn.