Brenda Frazier
Celebrating the World’s First “Celebutante”
Can a party change the world? Perhaps. Unfortunately, change isn’t always good and notoriety can happen for all the wrong reasons. Brenda Frazier learned that the hard way.
It isn’t unfair to compare Brenda Frazier to Kim Kardashian. She was the most recognizable debutant of her day, and was even the inspiration for a new word: “celebutante.”
Born in Quebec, Canada to Frank Duff Frazier, the son of a prosperous Boston family, and Brenda Germaine Henshaw Williams-Taylor, who’s father was knighted, young Brenda was in line to inherit millions. She knew it, but more importantly, the world knew it. The obsession began early. In a world that was still in the dregs of the Great Depression, escapism was a major draw. Brenda provided that escape for millions.
She began appearing in magazines at age 12. Her appearances at “cafe society” began at the behest of her mother at age 15. She was also one of the first celebrity influencers, appearing in magazines to promote various products. She even had a perfume named after her. While some of those closest to her argue that she wasn’t a great beauty, her style was ogled at and emulated by people around the nation. She became known for her “white-face” look and perfect posture. Her society pictures were so striking that she became the human template for Gloria Vanderbilt, the younger socialite who eventually took Brenda’s place as the newer, shinier “It Girl,” according to papers of the day.
When Brenda was on the cusp of her coming out, the papers predicted that she would be the “Belle” of the whole season. They were right. This was the blossoming of a new era in gossip tabloids and Brenda was the first generation of the Glamour Girl that continues to this day.
Much was written about Brenda’s debutante ball on December 27, 1938. Over 2,000 guests were invited to the Ritz-Carlton to celebrate Brenda, the queen of the night. Records state that the party cost over $50,000. Later, Brenda insisted that the amount was an exaggeration; however, it is true that three waiters at the ball were hired for the sole purpose of popping champagne all night long. If that’s any indication of the rest of the party, then the price tag couldn’t be inflated by much. Whatever the actual cost might have been, the gross excess in the midst of the Depression was met with as much public scorn, as well as envy, as would be expected.
The party was such a massive success, it became legend. As Vanity Faire remembered in 1987, “1,400 aristocrats from all over America and Europe had come to pay homage to this seventeen-year-old girl.” And Brenda held court just as any good monarch does, not going to bed until she had waved goodbye to the final guest at 6:00 the next morning. Years later, Brenda recalled being so exhausted that she couldn’t remember anything of the next day. Yet, over the course of a single party, Brenda Frazier had cemented her reputation indelibly in the annals of New York society. This was important because things weren’t as they seemed. Brenda’s flashy life was a facade hiding an ugly truth.
On the night of her big party Brenda was sick. She had come down with the flu and was so ill she insisted that she couldn’t attend her own coming out ball. Her mother, however, would hear none of it. Even though Brenda was so sick that she had to skip other debutante balls earlier that same day, she was forced to attend her own.
Her own party was being held in the evening, an oddity in the world of debutante balls. The timing was calculated. Despite being an heiress, Brenda had not inherited her wealth yet and, in fact, she and her mother were not rich by any standard at the time. They also were not welcome in the higher echelons of Society, wealth or not. Some would have accepted things as they were and move on. Not Brenda’s mother, though. Brenda Williams-Taylor or “Big Brenda” as she was sometimes called, saw her daughter’s life as an opportunity to seize the glamour and luxury that she never had. From an early age she schooled Brenda in how to act, dress, and conduct herself. She pushed Brenda as a child to lose weight to be more attractive, kicking off an eating disorder that would follow her for the rest of her life.
Brenda’s father died when she was 12. Whatever Brenda thought of him is unknown. Perhaps she didn’t think much. He was an alcoholic who who went on a bender immediately after Brenda’s birth and did not resurface for a month. When he was in the home, he and Big Brenda fought constantly and there was infidelity on both sides. When they decided to get a divorce, a predictably nasty custody battle began. In the midst of all their fighting over her, neither parent found much time to actually pay attention to Brenda. She was sent away to finishing school in Germany.
School appealed to Brenda. In fact, she enjoyed learning so much that she begged her mother to allow her to continue her studies. Her mother flatly refused and brought her back to the US just in time for her ball. At age 15 her education was over. That was the last time Brenda attempted to defy her mother’s wishes. From then on she appeared at every notable party, despite her nearly crippling social anxiety. She held her head straight so as not to mess up her perfectly coiffed hair, even though it caused chronic pain in her neck. And she refused to eat or caused herself to purge after each meal, despite the love of food she had shown as a child.
Brenda’s party was held at night precisely because most were held during the day. Big Brenda feared that if her daughter’s party was competing with others, she would be shunned in favor of those more notable, better bred Society girls. Instead, the party was held at night when there would be no competing engagements and where guests could revel the night away. The ploy worked. For the next decade Brenda Frazier was a staple of newspapers and magazines. But, as is always the case, her star eventually began to fade. Brenda married and was no longer the property of the viewing public. And another, younger glamour girl stepped up to take her place.
In 1963, a reporter from Life magazine went to Brenda’s home to interview her for the article that became “My Debut - A Horror.” To read the account of the reporter, the real horror was Brenda herself.
Sadness pervading the lives of the rich and famous is such a well-documented trope that it borders on cliche. However, Brenda’s story might take the cake with the extend of its haunting dismay. What the reporter found in the place of the young, vibrant girl that had graced the papers for so long was a frail husk of a woman caked in rice powder with an entire pharmacy on her nightstand. The interview took a week to complete due to Brenda’s fussiness and inability to concentrate. He recalled that she was, “a damn difficult woman. It was a strain to be around her for even five minutes.”
The Life article denounced her experience as a debutante from start to finish. She blamed her celebrity for her two failed marriages, her chronic depression, and numerous suicide attempts. But as venomous as the article was, it buoyed Brenda’s spirits. For years she had been a recluse, remaining in bed until the afternoon only to stay awake all night, forcing her hired help to do the same. She was known for regularly cancelling appointments for reasons such as needing to clean her Faberge eggs. For years she was an hour or two late for every appointment with her psychiatrist, despite crediting his work for helping her regain control of her life.
If you feel sorry for the good doctor - don’t. He charged her for each missed hour.
The complaints from Brenda’s staff are shocking, but nothing compares to the recollections of Victoria, Brenda’s only daughter. Victoria suffered through chronic neglect that was replaced with vitriolic envy when she reached puberty. Victoria asserts that her mother saw her as competition and force fed her to keep her overweight. When Victoria lost a few pounds, Brenda would throw a tantrum. Victoria also stated that, despite her fantastic wealth, Brenda put herself in debt. She was forced to hire a financial planner who guarded his client’s finances from herself for the rest of her life.
After the Life interview, Brenda saw a brief glimmer of returned fame. Her face was in print again. She even went on a few television talk shows. Then the fame dissipated once again. This time there was no coming back.
Brenda complained of pain for decades. Then, in 1982 the pain became real. She was diagnosed with bone cancer so advanced it had already eaten its way through most of her body. All that was left to do was make her final days as painless as possible. Yet, even on her deathbed, Brenda would yank out her feeding tube, terrified that it was making her fat. Occasionally her rudeness would lapse into confused memories of her past and she would begin to plan another party, populated by guests that were no longer alive.
In 1982, just one month shy of her sixty-first birthday, Brenda died.
In 1987, the New York Times published a review of the book “Debutante,” a biography of Brenda Frazier. The reviewer devoted the bulk of the article to criticizing the book’s subject. To be fair, there is much to criticize. She peeked at age 17 and was insufferably imperious for the remainder.
Celebutants are often seen as entertainment’s version of candy - momentarily stimulating but ultimately worthless, in some ways less real. They’re seen as flashes in the pan, pretty things of no real value. Admittedly, Brenda Frazier didn’t contribute much of substance to humanity. So why should we enshrine her in the annals of history?
Brenda Frazier, as her own biographer stated, “didn’t do a damn thing with her life and spent the last 20 years of it in bed.” If that’s the case, then what makes Brenda Frazier worth remembering? She’s important to the historical record for the same reason that she was important to newspaper readers of the 1930s and 40s - her situation was abnormal and her perspective unique. Brenda Frazier lived the life that only she could have. That alone makes her voice valuable.