A recent chat with one of my main galz resulted in each of us dishing the dirt on our high school humiliations: bitches, bastards, insecurities, tiny triumphs and tinier prepubescent and post-pubescent tits (unsurprisingly, one of our adolescent insecurities). And it got me thinking: what sage advice would I give to that girl, knowing what I know now?
Hello fairy space cake angel dust lover of light and life *insert hand-drawn daisy here*
(I fancied myself as a wordsmith at a young age, so ‘dear diary’ never quite cut the mustard)
Right now you’re about… 13? Yeah, we’ll go with 13. Right now, in this very moment, you are thirteen glorious years old. Crikey, just writing that down makes me realise just how young thirteen is. You have been alive for a meagre thirteen years, my girl, THIRTEEN YEARS! Absolute madness! I digress. You’re only thirteen (sorry, I know you hate it when people start a sentence like that) but you think you’ve got all the wisdom and tenacity of someone thrice your age (hence your disdain for that sentence starter); but still, even someone thrice your age isn’t particularly old and is yet to acquire all the wisdom you think you so graciously carry on those freckled shoulders of yours. You think you’ve got it sussed and, even though I know better now, I give you props for that; your refusal to acknowledge your deficiencies is honourable at best and annoying at worst. But, in the name of sharing and helping a sista out, I’m here to bestow upon you some learnings of my own:
DO wear head-to-toe Von Dutch. The photos of you will be horrific – traumatising, even – but that cap and tee were the making of you. I’ve seen your style revolution, and it comes in the form of a jazzy purple and yellow snapback.
DON’T cry over the imminence of Brace Face. Sure, you’d come to terms with your helter-skelter gnashers by the time the orthodontist got his sweet ass into gear but trust me, trust me, you will look so much fucking better as a result. *And* you will, at one point, have a mouth like a rainbow. Thank god for customisable braces.
DON’T worry about your tits so much. Tits are tits are tits are tits. Yours are small. They will never be big. You end up selecting your pill based heavily on reviews that go a lot like this: ‘OMG this pill is AMAZING! No side effects except I lost, like, butt-tonnes of weight – literally butt-tonnes, lol – and my boobs got, like, really, really big.’ You won’t know it at the time – and I’m still yet to confirm this is the case – but these reviews are, actually, an extremely clever marketing ploy. Well, either that or the girls pill poppin’ coincided with her sensationally perfect launch into puberty.
Regardless: your tits do not grow. Your ass, however, does. Every cloud.
DON’T be all consumed by the arrival of body-hair. It’s just not worth it. And you’re blonde anyways so whatever hair you do have is only visible under a microscope. You’re gonna be part of a conversation when you’re about… 14? and a lot of the girls are gonna divulge that they shave their, assumedly miniscule, snail trails; it’s an absurd conversation for fourteen year-olds to have but you’re young and easily influenced when it comes to body fluff so you, understandably, panic buy a razor and set to work landscaping your stomach. You don’t actually have a snail trail, but you will do once you start shaving it.
DON’T put so much fucking foundation on your feckin’ lips. I totally understand the look you’re going for – nudey, peachy lip with a touch of Ice Queen about it – and I’m still in pursuit of it; just know that foundation lips aren’t the answer. You have a face as gloriously and momentously round as the moon, you need all the definition you can get; don’t go slathering your features in Dream Matte Mousse. On a related note: one day you will learn about primer and it will revolutionise your world. On another related note: one day a young girl called Kylie Jenner will learn about lip-liner and the sales of Mac’s ‘Spice’ will soar. So, too, actually, will Soar. You won’t buy into the hype, and thank god, because it turned out she got injections. Your friends might though, so save them some money and spread the word, would ya? Mac ain’t cheap.
DO wile away hours flirting on MSN. It’s hard to imagine now but one day there’ll be kids who won’t even know what MSN is; can you believe that?! They’ll have no freakin’ idea. They won’t know of the joy that comes with finding the perfect song lyrics to attach to your screen name. They won’t understand the levels of care that went into selecting the primitive emojis that sat beside your perfectly-executed capitalisation of dAiSy DoIsH kEeNs. Nor will they experience the very earliest versions of Snake, or comprehend that there are actually two things that’ll survive a nuclear explosion: cockroaches and a Nokia 3210. They’ll carry out their formative flirting on social media platforms that are both amazing and terrifying. The world becomes a lot more connected and a bit more scarier because of it: you’ve been warned.
DO remember that girls can be bitches, but so, too, can boys (just try not to be a bitch yourself). But some of the best times you’ll EVER have are spent with both, usually intimidatingly congregated in rogue areas looking like a bunch of scattily-dressed hoodlums. There’ll be this one time, though, where one of the dudes throws some rocks and you get an eyeful. A literal eyeful of rocks. You go apeshit and it’ll be the first time you ever utter the C-word. You decide, from that moment forward, to use that expletive only in the most severe of situations – usually when addressing your philandering boyfriend – or during sexual scenarios. You chastise people for using it at whim. Many years later, you meet a girl called Steph who says it every time she exhales, and you become used to it; such is life.