They wear beige pants. They take no risks. They have planned their lives. Go to university. Find a man who has a well paying job. Have children. Be a rich and correct wife. They follow fashion in a sort of minimized way. Their opinions are correct, as they have good hearts. They are kind, good at everything they do – no real, deep talents, but a general talent for everything. They end up being all the same.
I’ve been to school with a lot of these girls. They had their lives planned out, even if they didn’t say it out loud. I’ve always had the idea there was but one way to go for them: a way to a good life. No financial worries. A good husband. Great children. You could see them and guess their ambitions. They all resembled each other and they all looked the same. It was a way of talking, behaving and dressing. These girls would always look neutral. They followed fashion, but not as fashion victims. They would always look decent. Sometimes, they wore clothes you can still wear when you are 30 and feeling still young enough.
Succeeding at school, succeeding in life. With all the money they were born in, it would work out. After all they know what to do. Go to university and become a doctor or lawyer or something that makes big money.
The aim? Status. Maybe I’m wrong,but it seemed like fitting in was priority. For fitting in, you had to have this ambition, these clothes, this behaviour. It was a club you could only enter if you adapted to the rules.
While they probably didn’t even realise there were rules. They most likely don’t think about their lives like this.
But I do.
I was never one of those girls. I was on the other side, to say it that way. I was the one fearing beige pants. Though we’re definitely not poor, we’re not rich either. We think about the money we spend. I didn’t want to become doctor. Still not. You could find me wearing fish net stockings, or T-shirts that were perhaps not really made for school. I was the girl with the weird opinions who wrote freaky stories about killing people (not that anyone knows).
So I didn’t quite fit in. And I was okay with that. However kind they were, we would just never be good friends. Small talk, yes. But the core, the essence is too different. My friends were all different from them. They didn’t wear fish nets, but they didn’t care so much about status either. And we did get along.
I’m still okay with not fitting in there. Now at university, things have changed anyway. There’s not such a group in my class. We’re probably all a bit different, if only for our studies… Maybe that’s the reason I am no longer such a ‘light rebel’. I’ve become more like ‘yeah, this is just what I like, whether it’s mainstream or not’. But there hasn’t been a day I regretted the things I wore at school, the things I said. That was me at that moment. And actually, I’m proud I had the guts to do that, to be different in a place where everyone was so alike.
All this never changed the fact that I fear becoming that kind of person, a conventional person with that exact behaviour I can’t even describe with words. It must have started like three years ago. I got worried about the fact that one day, I might be ashamed for the person I was at 16. Later on I feared wearing beige pants when growing older. There’s nothing wrong with those pants. But for me they represent a kind of person I don’t want to be. I want to accept all those freaky sides of me that perhaps have disappeared over time. They were there once. You can’t wipe away the person you were when you were younger.
But what if one day, I’d become a person I consider to be boring? A person that fits in? Really fits in, I mean. Like, with kids and a hubby. With no edges. Just a good person. No more killing people in stories. Contra death penalty.
That fear caused me to one day write about it in my diary. I summed up the things I didn’t want to become and the things I wanted to be(come). The other thing I did to prevent this all, was getting a helix.
Now that was badass. It’s just an earring, but in a place you are not supposed to have an earring when you want to fit in the Club. It might not make me prettier or whatever, but it says something about me. Even when I take it out, there will be a little hole and it will show that I wasn’t like them. Because of this thing, I will never be able to become really like them. At least because it shows I was different once. Not a real rebel, but I did have my own opinions and things I liked. They weren’t always generally accepted (Sex Gang Children?). But it didn’t make a bad person. Maybe it even made me interesting.
One day I’ll read my diary again and I’ll be relieved: I still don’t wear beige pants. (23 november 2011)