Standing in front of the mirror of a Manchester atelier, my 12-year-old daughter, Sophie, twirls in a satisfied pirouette.

Her dress, a confection of tomato red lace, is a success. And so it should be. A bespoke creation, it strikes the perfect balance between girlish princess (my requirement) and va va voom (no prizes there).

Not for Sophie an off-the-peg, quasi-bridesmaid number from the fag end of the BHS sale. I wouldn't normally indulge her this way. But, hey, this was for her batmitzvah and everything had to be just so. From the design of the glitterball-themed invitation to the choice of entertainment, Sophie involved herself in every detail of her special occasion.

The question is - and it's one, I'm asking myself each time an invoice arrives - how did it come to this?

In 2013, I wrote in the pages of this very newspaper that it was entirely unnecessary for girls to have a big batmitzvah. Loftily I proclaimed that there was no parity between the demands of a Jewish boy's coming-of-age and that of his female counterpart.

Proclaiming in print there would be "no marquee", the plan for Sophie was to rustle up some obliging relatives, a few sloppy kisses and a cup of tea to mark what I felt was an unexceptional moment in my daughter's life.

After all, we had already made a trio of barmitzvahs for Sophie's three older brothers. At least we'd got some return on our investment as, after 12 months of hard labour to learn their sedra, the boys now leyn regularly in shul.

The outcry from my declaration in the JC was massive. London feminists accused me of undermining the role of women in Judaism, citing debate around women's role in Orthodoxy, such as megillah leyning, dancing with sifrei Torah, and chairing shuls.

At the time, I laughed off the criticism. Anyone who has a bossy, focused and imperial 12 year old girl will tell you that they are definitely not second class citizens in Judaism.

What's more, Sophie goes to a broad-minded Jewish high school for girls, which encourages its pupils to take a Zionist, modern Orthodox view of religion.

So how did we get from a grudging afternoon tea to an all-singing, all-dancing event for 190, ahem, close friends, complete with a helpful party planner, lavish buffet (fleishik, natch) and, yes, a marquee

First, of course, there was pester power. As the only girl, and the apple of her father's eye (and wallet) Sophie was quite clear that she had to have a party.

As a child who loves to sing and dance she saw the event as a natural extension of her personality. The idea of a big celebration had been drilled down into her soul.

But there was something more too. My view of the importance of her batmitzvah changed, not least because so too had the perspective of our shul, Stenecourt in north Manchester.

Benji Simmonds, our relatively new rabbi, and his enthusiastic wife, Anna, believe strongly in making girls more active and visible in the congregation.

In a ground-breaking move, not only was Sophie invited to speak - albeit from her side of the mechitza - but a presentation was made to her as well. In the past, a few words from the rabbi, albeit well meant, was all that had been on offer.

So there was genuine preparation as Sophie considered the content and message of this flagship address - ­­ the subject matter gleaned from the Book of Ruth as well as the sedra for that week.

When the time came and she boomed her message (part religious reflection, part girl power) over the panels separating the ladies' and mens' section, I began to understand the nature of the batmitzvah. Girls do have a role to play and should be exalted accordingly.

This view was consolidated in my head after reading recently in the JC about Horrid Henry author Francesca Simon who said that four decades on it still rankles that she was denied a batmitzvah.

So I hold my hands up in defeat. The marquee, the frock, the food, the fuss. All the things I said we'd never do, we did.

True it cost us a few quid. But the memory of Sophie's address in shul and her bopping like a trooper in her tomato red dress, well, they are simply priceless.