The first time I was asked to hang out with the most popular girl in our sixth grade class, I remember feeling a sense of rush and excitement. A short brown girl with thick hair hovering above my shoulders, breasts that developed too quickly for an 11-year-old, shadows of acne spread across my cheeks and braces with rainbow-colored bands — I was a walking disaster. I was also literally a clumsy mess despite the years of dance training I had up until that point. So when, let’s call her Hailey, asked me to come hang out at her table during lunch, I was stricken with delight.
I’m sure Cady (Lindsay Lohan’s character) knew what it felt like to be an outcast-turned-popular girl.
I had a group of girlfriends that I hung out with that were not any less cooler than Hailey, but each had their own quirks that didn’t give them a first-class ticket into the popular crowd. Plus, we were involved with activities like choir and church, you know, the activities that popular girls weren’t into. Hailey was an avid church goer herself, as many of us in this particular community were, but choir was definitely not her thing. Hailey was also one of the prettiest and wealthiest girls in our class — which tend to go hand-in-hand with each other. The moment I crossed into the popular crowd, I left some of my girlfriends behind (although some eventually made it into the social circle) and a transformation of my social life began.
All throughout junior high and high school, I found myself in elite girl groups, whether it was on the Varsity Song squad at my public school (think: cheer but with no stunts and with more dance technique, pretty much the better version of cheer) or outside of school with my Catholic private school girlfriends. I went from shopping at Limited Too to Forever 21 within a day. Attracting boys’ attentions with a pack of girls was much easier than doing it solo, and when the pack was made up of attractive dressed-too-old-for-their-age teenage girls, then the damage was already done. I eventually lost my braces, acne cleared, grew into a body that was proportionate to my breasts and fell in love with a straight iron to remedy my thick hair. I finally fit in.
But then one night I had a reality check, slap in the face, epiphany. I was at a small kickback with friends from outside of school and my dear friend Hailey. For a while, I had started to recognize my discomfort in not quite feeling like I belonged. Although I was active with all of my dance training, I didn’t have a fit body. I hung out with rich girls and because I would never be able to afford it on my own, I was borrowing their designer jeans to wear at parties. I couldn’t afford high end makeup or perfume brands so I only wore it at Hailey’s when we got ready to go out. I observed the scene in front of me. A small and exclusive crowd of popular teenagers were spread throughout the house. Some were there because they inherited their popularity either through good lucks or wealth. Others, like me, were invited. As I stood with my back against the wall absorbing my surroundings, I noticed that I was only spoken to when one of my other girlfriends was standing next to me. I stared down at my phone, and thought about who I should call to pick me up.
I started to panic as the realization began to sink in. I thought to myself, “I am more than this. I am more than these hand-me-down clothes. I am more than my body. I am more than these mundane conversations of how much this and that costs or who hooked up with who. I am so much more.” As I clumsily fumbled around with my phone, I found my friend from dance, Suzie’s, phone number and hit send. From the corner of my eye I saw my good friend Gary, and one of the more genuine people there, walk towards me with concern on his face. “Hey what’s up? Are you OK?” But because I lumped him with the rest of the dimwitted idiots in the crowd, I decided to lash out at him. “Just leave me alone, Gary!” With his hands raised in defeat, he walked away and into the kitchen to grab a beer.
I didn’t even say bye to Hailey. Suzie was there in less than five minutes and as she drove up to the curb, I immediately ran up to the car and jumped in. I didn’t want to spend another minute with those people. I sent Hailey a text saying nothing else but “I’m sorry,” and we drove off.
The year following that night was a rollercoaster. I experienced an identity crisis — or more so an identity loss. If I wasn’t the clothes, the people or the money, then who was I? I did everything to rebel; I got a haircut my mom hated (a faux hawk to be exact), I listened to loud music where everyone screamed and rap music where everyone was angry, I detested designer labels, I stole makeup at beauty stores, I did drugs, and I skipped classes. If I didn’t know who the hell I was, then I was going to at least figure it out by doing everything that I believed in the past, was unpopular. And also try to have fun at the same time.
I’m in my mid-twenties now and I’m able to look back on these experiences and learn from it. It took me a long time to recover from my identity loss, and it’s only now that I’m starting to feel like I know myself. Although it is slightly painful to reminisce these memories, I am also grateful for them. Without those experiences, I would have never met the person I am today.