Belles and Whistles

Photos by Madeline Gray

For five days every spring, the North Carolina Azalea Festival in Wilmington celebrates the region’s culture, artwork, and landscape through a street fair, parade, live concerts, and tours of the city’s resplendent gardens. 

Until recently, the festival was associated with one prominent image: teenage girls in southern belle-style Victorian dresses, complete with hoop skirts and matching parasols. For more than 50 years, the Azalea Belles, as they were known, lined garden pathways and served as showpieces for both the festival and the city of Wilmington. 

That changed in 2020, when Chloe Sinclair, a former Belle, started a petition to “Disband the Belles”—signed by over 750 people—citing the tradition’s glorification of white supremacy. “When I was 16 years old, had I known the full extent of what this signified and understood the message it was sending, I would have chosen differently,” Sinclair wrote. “Instead, I was told this is what the pretty, popular girls did.”

Sinclair wasn’t the only one who felt the Belles, who were overwhelmingly wealthy and white, should go. For Jennifer Barfield, a 64-year-old Wilmington educator, seeing girls walk through town in antebellum costumes became “almost a slap in the face. It was almost like how the rebel flag became a symbol—for the women, it was the dresses.” 

Within weeks of Sinclair’s petition, the Cape Fear Garden Club, which created, managed, and sponsored the Belles program, voted to end the tradition and start fresh. In its place, they launched the Azalea Ambassadors program in 2022, which is open to New Hanover County high school sophomores, juniors, or seniors of any gender, as well as students in other counties with parents or grandparents in the Garden Club. The ambassadors give garden tours and act as escorts for festivalgoers, but dress in more modern attire. 

Sherry O’Daniell, who was then the club’s president, said the group had debated the change for nearly five years prior to their decision. Beth Trice, the club’s current president, explained it this way in an e-mail to The Assembly: “In 2020, the Cape Fear Garden Club made the thoughtful decision to transition away from the Azalea Belles program due to safety reasons at the time.” 

Trice did not detail the safety reasons, but in an interview with Port City Daily, O’Daniell cited concerns about “inappropriate verbal remarks” directed at the Belles and potential misrepresentation on social media. 

Shifting to the ambassadors program, she said, “allowed us to focus on a broader, more inclusive representation of our club’s mission.” 

But some Wilmington residents weren’t happy about the decision, and launched a counter-petition on Change.org—“Bring the Azalea Belles Back!”—that received 4,833 signatures.

For Alma Fennell, 82, who started sewing dresses for the Belles in 1984, it marked the loss of a rite of passage. “When we get through putting that dress on that kid, she’s a whole different person,” Fennell reminisced recently. “Then her mother will call back and say, ‘We can’t keep her out of the dress.’”

Fennell is one of several outspoken residents who want to revive the Belles, a program she believes educates young women on elegance and femininity. She’s been working with other locals to build public support. “We want to introduce these girls into society,” Fennell said. “They’re not taught that anymore.”

More Than Fashion

Avah Foy, an 18-year-old from Wilmington, remembers going to the Azalea Festival as a child and being stunned by the Belles’ princess-like hoop skirts. “I think that’s where a lot of little girls’ spark started,” said Foy, who recently finished high school as a homeschooler. “To me, it represented our heritage.” 

Foy is one of the Belles’ most fervent defenders. In April, she started the Facebook groups “Port City Azalea Angels” and “Wilmington for Belles,” both dedicated to reviving the program, and a “Bring Back the CFGC Belles” petition on Change.org that has 718 signatures. “Azalea Belles were simply a representation of southern hospitality and grace being preserved through tradition,” wrote commenter Amy Russo. “Every geographical area and culture has idiosyncrasies that make them unique and charming.” 

Other commenters were less supportive. “The ‘Southern Belle’ wasn’t just fashion,” wrote Lettie Gore, a historian, racial justice educator, and facilitator. “It was a social role tied to the brutality, exploitation, and dehumanization of Black people during slavery.”

The comment threads on Foy’s pro-Belle posts in Wilmington-area Facebook groups got so contentious that, according to Foy, she was removed from several of them. Other groups have allowed her to stay, she said, but restricted her posting ability, requiring group moderators to approve her comments. 

“It seemed like an unnecessary response for something that is, in the grand scheme, pretty small,” Foy said. “I think the community seeing young girls fighting for this to come back—because it does affect them—has helped a lot.”

On the one hand, Foy associates the Belles with Wilmington’s heritage. On the other, she believes that fashion can be separated from Civil War history. Her mother, Jessica Foy, agrees. “I see all these beautiful houses that are toured and are admired for their beauty that were built during that same time, and we’re able to separate the more tragic things and appreciate that object for just its beauty,” said her mother, who was also a Belle. “The fashion itself is beautiful and has its own identity that spans over 100 years and continents.”

Dressmaker Fennell and two other women, Danielle Akey and Brandi DeHart, also founded The Wilmington Belle Society this spring. While it’s unclear from their Facebook page what their specific activities will be, the society’s stated mission is to “empower women through education, etiquette, and elegance” through a new Christian faith-based program for high school girls that emphasizes social graces, etiquette training, and community service. And, of course, the dresses. 

“Femininity matters,” Akey said. “Class matters. We want to really elevate that experience for all young women in our community.” 

Like Foy, Akey tied the program’s necessity to what local children want. “Girls love to dress up,” she said. “They love to feel beautiful. You see that with Disney princesses, with wedding gowns, and with pageants. I think every girl would do a pageant if it meant she didn’t have to talk in a microphone.” 

Brandi DeHart was not a Belle, but wants her daughter to have the opportunity. Both DeHart and Akey’s daughters were not yet old enough to participate in the Azalea Belles program before it ended—though this past year, they were Belles in the Rose Garden Tours. “I have never thought it was fair to her,” DeHart said of the decision to discontinue the Belles. “It’s a Wilmington legacy, you know?”

Legacies are complicated, however, particularly in Wilmington. Like the Foys, Jennifer Barfield’s family attended the Azalea Festival for years, and she remembers watching the city’s leaders wave proudly from convertibles. It wasn’t until 1980, when she was 22, that her husband’s cousin, Jonathan Barfield Sr., joined the parade as the first African American elected to the New Hanover County Board of Commissioners since white supremacists overthrew Wilmington’s multiracial government in 1898. 

Barfield understands the allure for young girls; her daughter, Tiffany, competed in pageants as a child, and was Little Miss Black Wilmington in 1989. But she doesn’t think that should be the only consideration.

“There are a bunch of girls that want to dress up like princesses; I think that’s a great idea,” Barfield said. “But make sure that you have plus-size ones, people from all different kinds of backgrounds, and that the crown can fit around some dreads as well as curly red hair. Have a Belle in a wheelchair. Allow for it to be open for everyone.” 

As for separating Civil War aesthetics from history, Barfield thinks that’s short-sighted. “If my life were not steeped in reacting to what I think are reactions to me—if I didn’t have to spend that part of my brain and my energy on things,” she said, “then maybe I could focus on fashion too.”

A Complicated History 

For many people of color in New Hanover County, antebellum costumes aren’t harmless nostalgia; they’re reminders of the city’s long history of racial violence, including the 1898 coup and massacre. Wilmington had been North Carolina’s largest city, and 56 percent of residents were Black. After the insurrection, more than 2,100 Black residents fled permanently, reshaping the city’s political landscape overnight. 

One of the coup’s architects was local businessman and developer Hugh McRae, for whom a prominent city park was later named. It wasn’t until 2020, when civil rights protests swept the nation, that activists successfully campaigned to change the name to Long Leaf Park. As Lauren Collins writes in her new book, They Stole a City: Wilmington’s White Supremacist Coup and the Families Who Live with Its Legacy, both Confederate nostalgia and Wilmington’s society women, many of whom were in the United Daughters of the Confederacy, helped inspire the events of 1898. 

The original Azalea Belles didn’t begin until 1969—the year after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., amidst the national struggle for civil rights. During desegregation, Wilmington closed its historic all-Black Williston High School and bussed Black students to formerly all-white campuses. This triggered months of community outrage and student protests from both Black and white communities, as well as racial violence in the newly integrated schools. The gowns used for the first Belles event were repurposed from a 1962 Civil War centennial event, “The Cape Fear Confederate Ball.” 

Kirstin Vogel, 36, who was an Azalea Belle in 2007, looks back on it as a tradition divided along both class and racial lines, because it was entirely dependent on knowing the right people. Back then, the Cape Fear Garden Club required a club member to sponsor each Belle, and gave priority to the daughters and granddaughters of members.

“Not everyone who wanted to do it got to do it, because they could not find a sponsor,” Vogel said. 

Vogel no longer feels the same way about the tradition, and endorsed the 2020 change. She agrees with Justine Orlovsky-Schnitzler, a former Belle who described the program as “using high schoolers as living lawn ornaments.” 

“I think they realized that what they were doing was not inclusive and right for the community,” Vogel said. “The community saw this as a problem and an unnecessary addition to how incredible the Azalea Festival is without Belles.” 

If the program were to be brought back, a lot would need to change, Vogel said, starting with an acknowledgment of Wilmington’s history. “Why do you feel like it is such an important thing to bring back?” she’d want to ask its supporters. “Is there something missing from the historical story that we need to be telling?” 

A Bigger Umbrella 

Given the recent efforts to bring them back, Wilmington residents can expect to see more girls in Civil War-era attire next spring—but not at official Azalea Festival tours or at the Cape Fear Garden Club’s famous Garden Party. They will instead be found at offshoot events like the annual Rose Garden Tour (hosted by the Wilmington Cape Fear Rose Society) and the Azalea Festival Children’s Tea (hosted by the Cape Fear Volunteer Center).

The festival is changing in other ways, too. The Wilmington chapter of Stonewall Sports, a nonprofit sports organization for the LGBTQ community and its allies, participated in the parade for the first time in 2025. Roughly 20 people joined them in their float. 

“We were very nervous,” said Matthew Ramirez, the commissioner for Wilmington’s Stonewall chapter. “It’s a very visible thing. We’re in the South. Everyone is aware of what’s happening in terms of LGBTQ+ rights, especially trans rights … but we had such a positive experience the first time. Which is why we decided to do it again, and why we’re going to continue going out there.” 

Ramirez said the crowd’s support and cheers, coupled with the festival organizers’ full support, reflected the city’s growing inclusivity. In just one year, sign-ups for the Stonewall float have tripled—from 20 to more than 60.

“The important part of visibility is not for the people who are against us,” Ramirez said. “It’s for the people who haven’t seen other people that are like them and are discovering themselves at any age.”

Meanwhile, Fennell is ready to sew new dresses for groups like the Wilmington Belle Society. 

“I have already created about 10 different designs that I want to do,” she said.