By LOLA OGUNNAIKE
Published: April 26, 2006
Sophie Mitchell, a high school senior in Jupiter, Fla., had no intentions of turning 16 quietly. She wanted that birthday to be an epic event — no cake-and-ice-cream social or pajama-and-pizza sleepover would do. No, her party would be a ridiculously lavish, invitation-only affair, inspired by the film "Moulin Rouge." There would be can-can dancers, a fleet of stretch limousines for friends and family and a $1,500 cake.
MTV
Sophie Mitchell of Jupiter, Fla., at her sweet 16 celebration on MTV.
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"I wanted something with a lot of substance," said Sophie, now 17, without a hint of irony, "not just a regular party but pure entertainment for everyone."
Sophie is just one of the dozens of privileged kids who have had their coming-of-age extravaganzas captured on MTV's hit series "My Super Sweet 16" (Wednesdays at 10 p.m., Eastern and Pacific times; 9, Central Time). The show, in its third season, follows teenagers as they painstakingly plan their elaborate celebrations (which can cost as much as $200,000), argue over the details with their parents, fret over guest lists and shop for their first cars. There are tears and tantrums and nouveau-riche displays of conspicuous consumption. Marissa, a daddy's girl from Arizona, dyes her two poodles pink, so they'll match her dress. Her party was the show's season opener.
"It's like Jerry Springer for rich kids," said Zena Burns, entertainment director at Teen People magazine. Her readers can't get enough of the show, she said.
"You're either the type of kid that aspires to have that over-the-top party, or you're the type of kid that finds that absolutely repellent, but you still can't stop watching," said Ms. Burns, a fan of the series. "And I have just as many adult friends who watch it and do the water cooler recap the next day."
Predictably, the show has its share of critics. "Their blingy flings are not celebrations of accomplishment; they're celebrations of self," Ana Marie Cox, a Time magazine columnist, wrote in this week's issue. "What used to mark the end of childhood now seems only an excuse to prolong the whiny, self-centered greediness that gives infantile a bad name." Ms. Cox compared watching the show to eating an entire sheet cake, "wax decorative candles and all."
The show follows a simple but wildly successful formula: (1) kid makes a series of high-priced demands (a fireworks display, a helicopter ride, perhaps a harem of belly dancers); (2) parents capitulate and cough up the cash; (3) kid gleefully humiliates the uninvited; (4) something goes awry; (5) kid has a meltdown and repeatedly refers to self in the third person; (6) party miraculously comes together, and kid is presented with an automobile before his salivating, less fortunate peers. In Marissa's case, her father, who owns three auto dealerships, presented her with two cars: a red convertible for the weekend and a sturdy S.U.V. for the week.
Nina Diaz, the show's creator, said that in addition to receiving submissions, she worked with a casting team of five who scoured the country talking with party planners, florists and catering-hall owners, in search of the type of teenagers who make for great television. Each season about 200 are interviewed, but only 8 or 9 make the cut, Ms. Diaz said.
"We're looking for the parties to be over the top, and we're looking for originality," she explained. "We're looking for personality, how they visualize their grand entrance, how they're going through the process of inviting people."
While Ms. Mitchell's party was organized in four weeks, other teenagers have dedicated nearly a year to ensuring that their big one-six will be memorable. Aaron Reid, son of the music mogul L. A. Reid, took five months to plan his party. He had just moved to New York from Atlanta and was eager to make a name for himself at his new prep school, to establish himself as more than L. A. Reid's son. His invitation was an MP3 player. At his party, held at Jay-Z's 40/40 club last November, the producer Jermaine Dupri was the D.J., the rapper Kanye West performed, and Diddy, Aaron's godfather, made an appearance. Poppa Reid clearly pulled some strings.
"Everybody else spent hundreds of thousands of dollars, but I didn't spend anything," Mr. Reid said proudly. "I got my friend's club. I got my friend to perform and I got my friend to D.J."
"There's absolutely no way that I would ever spend that type of money," he continued. "I think it's over the top and sickening and a real poor representation of wealth."
Still, Dr. Srinivasa Rao Kothapalli, a prominent cardiologist in Beaumont, Tex., is more than willing to relinquish his checkbook. His daughter Priya turned 16 earlier this month, and she is in the throes of planning a joint birthday-graduation party with her elder sister, Divya, 18. "If you can afford to have a grand celebration, then why not," said Dr. Kothapalli, who immigrated to the United States from India in the mid-1980's. "It's the American way. You work hard and you play hard."
Born with silver ladles in their mouths, his daughters have certainly mastered the latter. Their Bollywood-themed party for 500 guests will be held in the family's backyard — all 4½ acres, behind the 10,000-square-foot house. The Format, their favorite band, will perform. And they will make their grand entrance on litters, during an elaborate procession led by elephants. The sisters, who plan to perform a choreographed routine at their to-do next month, are also taking dance lessons, and they've enlisted the help of a trainer.
"We both want to lose three pounds," said Priya, who received a Mercedes convertible and an assortment of diamond jewelry for her birthday. Her sister's graduation gift package included a Bentley, diamonds and two homes in India.
"I was really surprised," Divya said, "because I was only expecting a Bentley and one house."
Just last month they gave a preparty where invitations to their coming event were handed out by body builders whom Priya ordered not to smile. "Assistants are not supposed to smile," she explained.
Over the years, the sisters' ostentatiousness has earned them enemies. "Some people give us dirty looks and mock us," Divya said. "They're just jealous." MTV cameras following the pair around have not made things easier. "Sometimes people are fake nice because they want to be invited to our party; it's so annoying," she said.
Priya added, "It's pathetic when people suck up." Still, dealing with sycophantic classmates and a bit of teasing is a small price to pay for the spotlight. "We both love attention—that's one of our main motives for having the party," Divya said. "The more attention the better."
Ms. Burns was not surprised. "Given the advent of the Internet and reality television, a lot of kids think that fame is a realistic goal," she said. "What better way to be famous in your own world than throw the party of the year?"
Appearing on the series has meant instant pseudocelebrity for many of the teenagers. They've been asked to sign autographs and pose for photos. None of those interviewed seemed to mind the newfound attention, though not all of it has been positive. After her episode was shown last season, Sophie, the Florida teenager, a high-strung diva given to pronouncements like "the moral of this story is I'm always right," received tons of hate e-mail.
"At first I was reading it all, but then I had to stop because I was punishing myself," she said. Sophie's mother, Dale, a veterinarian, was quick to defend her daughter, blaming editing for making her look like an ungrateful monster. "My daughter and I have an adoring relationship; we're best friends," she said, "but that's not interesting to people. People want the guts and the juicy stuff."
Sophie was just as quick to defend her mother's decision to spend $180,000 for her party. "Unless they were crazy or hated their child, any parent who was financially able would do it," she said.
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