A couple of week’s ago, my friend T called me at work. She called me, she had said, because ‘you’re the only one who will understand this.’
She was in the metro–if I remember correctly–and she had seen a young girl. A young girl, she had said, who was her ten years ago. From the way she was dressed, right down to her walk and the earphones attached to her head.
“And you know what Hope?” she had said, her voice reaching octaves I was not aware she could reach, “She was cool!”
I was never comfortable in my skin as a teenager. Honestly? My teenage years are a blur of slamming doors and screaming “No-one understands meeeeeeeeee!”s to my mother on the one side and sulking, silent filled rage on the other.
So when my friend said those words to me I felt incredible relief for her. I can only imagine how moving, how peaceful that moment must have been. To see your past self, years later, in the eyes of another person and finally approve.
Ever since she told me that story I’ve been thinking about my own Metro Girl. What would she look like? Would I recognize her when I saw her? Petrified that I might miss my own moment of acceptance, I began to make a list of attributes I thought I should be looking out for:
Chubby with an awful–reminiscent of a mushroom–haircut.
Does not make eye-contact. With anyone.
Speaks softly.
Head stuck in a book. Preferably by some dead Russian.
Dresses in black.
Paints while listening to Natalie Imbruglia’s Torn on repeat. (Or its modern day equivalent.)
Smokes because she hopes it will make her cool. In that dark and twisted way.
As I paused to look over my list, I realized that I was cool. Sure, it might have been in a slightly Janeane Garofalo in Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion kind of way. Or Rachel Leigh Cook before the makeover in She’s All That. But still. And without actually seeing my own Metro Girl, I began to feel a sense of understanding, of acceptance for that other me. Even with all her quirks, she was pretty cool.
What do you think your Metro Girl looks like?
13 responses so far ↓
brookem // April 29, 2008 at 9:50 pm
Oh geeze. My 16 year old self? In high school I was into rocking out the cords, birks with wool socks (the horror!)/clogs, a sweater or a henley like shirt with a hemp necklace. A beaded necklace, that I made. Kind of the alternative-meets-grunge look. That was one time.
Then I was the trying-to-be-trendy girl, and we all know how that works out, when you’re TRYING. Oof.
kristin // April 29, 2008 at 9:55 pm
i love this. mine would be a head stuck in a book, tan as can be, tennis playing, art student. wearing rainbow flip flops way before they were cool and either jeans or a skirt that just barely passed the appropriate school dress code length. usually walking by myself. usually caring way too much about that fact. all the time observing everything around me.
and by the way, i love she’s all that. and i think deep down i always wanted to have that same experience laney boggs has.
lfar // April 29, 2008 at 10:02 pm
Hope, I love this post!
Me at 11? Wearing soccer shorts to class with baggy tshirts. Purposely making my hair look messy, then putting it under a baseball cap. Totally wide eyed and bushy tailed. Trying hard to make people love her, but not trying hard to fit in. Naive, nervous… confident for a skinny little eleven year old.
Jess // April 29, 2008 at 10:34 pm
You were cool! For real, in the way that we can only appreciate when we’re older.
Let’s see. I was chubby and I wore overalls a lot. I hadn’t learned how to take care of my curly hair properly yet, so it was a frizzy mess. Just starting to learn French and trying to be innovative with paper topics. No, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t cool.
tiff // April 29, 2008 at 11:03 pm
I would be the tomboy, baseball glove in hand, headphones in, hair a complete mess, and totally pining over the teammate guy next to me who didn’t know I existed.
Essentially Me // April 30, 2008 at 4:24 am
My metro girl would be sitting with her legs crossed and just staring out the window … daydreaming. But I’m pretty sure you get that of me.
jennnifer ramos // April 30, 2008 at 5:35 am
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Trigger // April 30, 2008 at 7:01 am
Oh man, what a great post! You always come up with great ideas. Do you mind if I do a post about this? I’ll for sure link to you. It’s just such a clever exercise in self-inspection.
Let me just summarize: 14 year old Trigger was disgustingly happy, well adjusted, well-liked and successful. I didn’t realize at the time that teenagers were supposed to be angsty. :) I was a little bit of everything – friend to nerdy kids, honor student, varsity athlete and dance team leader, lifeguard (which almost always earns you cool points) and band/choir girl. I think I couldn’t say no to anything, or anyone…which left me well-rounded and ready to get the hell out of hicksville, small town America…
qu33nbee // April 30, 2008 at 2:41 pm
Hmm… This is an interesting thought. But I definitely know I was not cool. Maybe above the age of 15, but definitely not before that. Hehe…
Peter // April 30, 2008 at 5:12 pm
Insecure about her Adam’s apple.
Karina // May 1, 2008 at 1:44 am
hah. I’m not that far off in age from my metro girl, at sixteen I was a skier mountain biker chick, long ponytail-ed hair, perfect grades, always walking so fast most people had to jog to keep up, always busy, always smeared in clay from my pottery class (where I basically lived with my crazy wonderful teacher who not only let me cuss and scream in his class, but would cuss and scream with me), journal in hand, friends somewhere, equally busy all overachievers, just starting to run again. If I saw my “self” in the metro I would likely think “she could probably do something else with her hair and stop and catch her breath once in a while, but in two years she’s going to be way cool, relaxed, happy and sucessful.”. and guess what? I would be right.
Froggy // May 1, 2008 at 5:04 pm
Oooh, 18 year old Froggy, heading into the end of her Senior year of high school… let’s see…
Long, stringy, bleached-blonde hair, shaved halfway up on the underside. Never wears much makeup, maybe some grey eyeliner or ridiculously dark lipstick. Most often seen in whatever she found on the floor when she rolled out of bed–beat up men’s dress pants, corduroy overalls, huge black dance pants; and relics from the 70s–a pink velour blouse, uber-short skirts, dresses with whacky patterns. Almost never seen without combat boots or eviscerated green converse hightops. Skinny and fit–with no qualms about showing it off. Listens to her walkman in class–probably Nirvana or the Grateful Dead. Shows up to first period with a travel mug full of coffee. Everybody knows her, but most people have no idea what to make of her. A free spirit.
Froggy // May 1, 2008 at 5:05 pm
Oh, one thing I forgot: Never wears a bra. Often forgets to shave, but doesn’t really care :)