If TikTok existed in 1980, my prom would’ve gone viral

Social media has transformed the American prom.

Today’s teens have grown up with smartphones and TikTok, where the real event isn’t the prom itself — it’s the content they edit and post afterward.

My prom experience surely would have gone viral had TikTok been around in 1980.

We arranged a pre-prom meeting at her house to get to know each other.

“I heard about you, a regular class clown,” she said. “You better not show up in a limo, wear a top hat or cane or do anything else to embarrass me.”

The authenticity of that painful video clip — her anger and the painful expression on my face — surely would have racked a few million TikTok views.

Still, I wanted to impress her. I bought her the finest corsage in our high school (it cost $45, which would be about $170 now). I bought a box of frozen steaks, snacks and other refreshments for the after-prom party.

On the afternoon of the prom, my friend Gigs and I — we double dated — took a drive to the prom ballroom downtown to make sure we wouldn’t get lost later.

Later that evening, we picked up our girls for photos and false enthusiasm, but we were late for dinner (we got lost).

I’m certain my date didn’t spend a few thousand dollars on her dress as girls do now, though I remember she looked great.

The truth is, I can’t remember what she was wearing because I hardly saw her all night long. She and Gigs’ date spent most of the night in the ladies’ room, while Gigs and I counted how many times the hard-rock band played “Cocaine” (nine).

Finally, around 11:30 p.m., the dance was over. We took the girls home.

But our suffering was just beginning.

We picked our dates up early the next morning and drove to a lake cabin where my friend Cook was having an after-prom party. The cabin was a two-hour drive, but it took us five (we got lost).

My date didn’t utter a word until 2 p.m., when she challenged Gigs and me to a tennis match.

Gigs is an outstanding athlete and I’m no slouch, either. We crushed the girls, and after the match they refused to talk to us.

Gigs and I spent the rest of the day tossing a football and eating steak. Around dusk, the girls told us it was time to leave.

Five hours later we arrived home (we got lost) and the torturous affair was finally over.

I read that Generation Z prefers to post authentic content over the fake “look how perfect my life is” content that Millennials and GenXers prefer.

Looking back, I can see that my prom had all the raw, awkward authenticity Gen Z loves — I just didn’t have TikTok to prove it.

In any event, I have some advice for Zoomer promgoers: Be kind to your date — or your unpleasant actions might rack up millions of views on TikTok and Instagram.

My date had no idea I’d become a nationally syndicated humor columnist — and retell variations of our awkward experience at least 15 times in hundreds of newspapers over the next 45 years.

That’s not as good as millions of views would have been, but old-school newspaper payback is still sweet.