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this was written by a friend of mine, lauren, for higher english tonight, while i was talking to her on msm...
"Lauren ******- Reflective writing
An era can often be defined by the fashions of the times: in Victorian times, restrictive corsets; in the 1960's, free-flowing flares and psycadelic colours. Looking back over the past few years, and through the depths of my wardrobe, I realise that my life is no different.
A hat: an item of clothing, to keep the head warm. Useful; perhaps, essential; unlikely, unless you live in the Arctic. But for me, the hat was the most essential item in the path towards my own identity.
"The quiet girl,with red hair" is how I was probably described untill the age of about 11, untill a visit to Aviemore, when I had the sudden desire to break free from everyone's expectations, and bought a tall, green and blue stripey hat. Although it was not outrageously bizzare, it was just quirky enough to make people think that perhaps I wasn't so quiet and 'normal' as they had thought.
After this, I seemed to get hooked on the fact that I could manipulate the way people saw me- one day I could be seen as shy, the next I could be confident, and frankly, quite mad. Therefore, the collection grew and grew.
It continued with a big, orange, lumpy thing. In every persons transition from child to teenager, there is the desire to rebel against their parents. I think I made a pretty good stab at it. Suddenly it was not me, embarrased to be seen with my parents: but them emarrased to be seen with me. As my mother bumped into old friends from college, she swiftly moved into another part of the shop whilst speaking to them, pretending there only ever were four Hendry children, and the fact that they were certain there had been five was merely an illusion. This was the moment I took much joy in loudly announcing that I'd just seen a "mental hat!" whilst watching the squirming discomfort of my parent, as the old friend realised it was the illusive 5th child, hidden beneath the depths of the bright orange 'udder'.
Next came the 3rd hat: about 2 feet tall, vertically striped with a large brim:
this obviously reflected my unrequited desire to be six foot tall. People gazed in horror as a tiny 1st year wandered about, swamped in a huge head-piece. By this stage I had gone past really caring what I looked like- either that, or I really had lost my mind- and was more interested in making myself, and others laugh. As I walked through town or school, there would be a trail of people in my wake talking amoungst themselves, staring.
After that, it all became a little silly to say the least. Not least, there was The Ram. A huge, blue contraption with flowing, spiralling horns, and googly eyes. Jokers hats were a self-admittion of how ridiculous I may have looked. The long witches hat, 3 cornered hats, pom-pommed hats...the list was endless. Well that is an over-exaggeration. There were 35.
But the era of the hats came to a close almost 3 years ago. The boyfriend of the time gave me a hat, and when he went, the hats did not return. They had become a cliche, and I felt it was time to move on. The lack of hats was nearly as much of an uproar as they were when they were first introduced to my head and to the world.
The problem with them was that they were too easily removed- after all, it is rude to wear a hat indoors. The result of this was a new phenomenon in my life.... After all, once people had become accustomed to the hats, they no longer performed their duty, so I felt the need to change. It was replaced by a slightly more permanent, even less parentally approved option: The Hairstyle.
There were two minor shocks before the main bout of cutting and dying commenced- at the time, these minor shocks were major events: firstly the bob, which I thought was the shortest haircut in the world, and was more than a little surprised that I let my friend touch my head with the rather large pair of kitchen scissors. The second, even shorter, by the same friend, with the very same kitchen scissors (that was the last time my mother trusted me to go to her house).
But the major hair changes began by months of secret plotting, leading to a climax on the 16th of March. I sat in the chair, terrified yet excited. I'd felt this way when getting my hair cut before, but not in quite such an extreme manner as this. Why? The trembling was bouncing off the three hundred people, sitting, staring. I knew that this hair cut would probably change my life, if not forever, than at least untill my hair grew back from 1/8th of an inch, back to 'normal' length.
The response from my parents was better than what it ever was from the hats. The disgust that I looked like a boy (according to them),and that they were absolutely powerless with respects to changing it. I was in total control, and loved it! Since then, I have learned to blackmail them in a very cunning manner, threatening either to take the clippers to my hair, as I have done a few times since, or to dye it one of several non-parentally approved shades of brown/red/black/pink/purple/blue. In this way, I can usually get clothes, money, power.
Untill I distance myself from my parents, my 'fashions' will continue to change, with varying levels of extremity. Even after that, they will keep developing, but perhaps with myself in mind, rather than vicious attacks aimed to stress and embarrass my parents. Though there is no better fuel for change than when power is for the taking." |
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