What I remember most was their HAIR. It was perfectly coiffed, teased to high hell and sprayed to the point of not moving.
They were so cool. So unbelievably cool.
The popular girls.
My junior year of high school I went to a visual and performing arts program at another school. I auditioned for the theatre track and by some wacky twist of fate was accepted. So I left my high school and traveled every day to a new school to attend the program.
It was the same year that these specific popular girls were seniors. As I traveled by bus (yeah, I was a looser like that) to school each morning we would always pass a car full of them. I knew everything about that car. The color. Who would be driving it. How many people were usually in it. I waited for it every morning just to get a glimpse of the girls that I wanted to be.
I didn’t know them. I knew OF them. I thought I wanted to BE THEM. I teased my hair like them (Frightening! Oh the teasing, teasing, and spraying!) and tried to dress like them. It was my own little high-school version of celebrity adoration.
Truth be told, I was never a popular girl. Or at least I don’t think I was. I had none of the traits that I associated with popularity at the time: the looks, the clothes, the car, the money, the boyfriend on the football team. We had a large family and a small income. I wore hand me downs. My clothes were never in style. (Take my word for it.) I think the only thing I had going for me in those days were breasts and a cop for a father.
When I think back on high school I laugh. (A lot!) But a part of me also feels for my teenage self and her insecurity. That never goes completely away, does it?
At least I can say this – after all this time I am secure enough as a person to not fall prey to that type of adoration any longer. Besides my hair couldn’t take that kind of abuse again anyway!