There's something about gaining a new sense of being "older" in middle school, while still maintaining the maturity level of a 5-year-old that can lead to some awkward situations. At the time, it may have seemed "cool" and "edgy," but looking back, these people can't help but cringe.
Such A Pioneer
“I was a major dumba– in middle school. A cringy thing I did was to pioneer the topknot style for men. With my gorgeous blonde hair and Nordic features, I thought I looked like [the guy on the left]. But I forgot that I was a skinny, pale, and pubertal 14-year old kid with braces. So I looked more like [the guy on the right]. At the time, I genuinely believed it would be a good decision to tie my hair up to look like a retarded human unicorn. Cringe, cringe, cringe…”
That’s Not What That Means…
“I was on the middle school basketball team, which shared the same gymnasium as the high school teams. The middle school team would always play first and then sit around to watch the big guys and gals play their games. As usual, when we were the home team, we would wear our white uniforms.
I had just heard the phrase, ‘white power’ and had no idea what it meant. Any time our team would score, I would yell ‘WHITE POWER!’ as loud as I could.
Finally, someone in the crowd stopped me and explained what that phrase actually meant. The gym had several ‘non-white’ audience members, and both of the referees were black.
I apologized to those around me, and I made sure to apologize to the refs immediately after the game.”
It’s Cool When It’s Fake
“I wore fake Claire’s glasses on a daily basis, just to increase my ego and show my then ‘non existent’ smart side.
Then, my eyesight suddenly got poor, and I was forced to get the ‘real deal’, aka prescribed glasses. Fast forward, I was frustrated with my diagnosis, and if I properly recall, cried in the doctor’s office. How embarrassing.
Then, one day I accidentally damaged the lenses and stopped wearing them because according to me, they looked ugly. I couldn’t allow my already self conscious and overweight self, struggling with social anxiety appear ‘more ugly.’ Stupidity level was really elevated.
So, for the rest of middle school, I remained blind, constantly squeezing the eyes in a desperate attempt to see. For 1 1/2 years, I lived in a physical misery because not only my eyes were hurting, but my math grades were going down. I was physically unable to see the ‘how to solve’ explanation on the Smart Board.
In result, I scored lower than 70% on a couple of tests, but managed to get a B in that class. Magic exists, it was proven.
All of this bulls–t happened due to my ego.”
This Poor Girl
“This memory lane is rank with cringe. I couldn’t settle on just one. BEWARE!!! NOT for the faint of heart!
10. I wrote a note to a friend about shaving my legs for the first time. I nicked my ankle, which any smooth-legged girl knows means massive bleeding. My ‘friend’ dropped the note in the lunchroom and it was found by a table of guys who read it aloud. I was called ‘Bleeder.’
9. I threw away my retainer, day 2 of owning it. Had to go through lunch trash cans. It was taco salad day.
8. I had to wear head gear for my teeth and I had orthodontist apts right after school my mom made me have it on when she picked me up. Total freak.
7. I had a cold, I coughed and for some reason didn’t cover my mouth properly and a big wad of phlegm flew out and landed on teacher’s desk (I was in the front row) for EVERYONE to see. It just hung there defying gravity.
6. For some reason I put a suction cup on my forehead and then popped it off. Of course it broke all of the blood vessels and left me with a huge, red circle right in the middle of my forehead. I then had to tell this story EVERY TIME someone saw it.
5. I used Nair on my upper lip to remove unwanted hair, left it on too long (just to be sure) and had an allergic reaction which made me look like I had a red mustache for a week. And it stung. And then I had to tell THIS story.
4. I had several boys tell me I needed to get rid of my uni-brow. BOYS. Thanks girlfriends, what are you good for again?
3. I had an infected hair on my leg — also from shaving — and it developed into a pimple. Fine except we have to wear shorts in gym class. No more Bleeder, now I was known as Leg Zit. Creative bunch.
2. I was playing tennis with my dad at a local gym. Very popular place for the cool kids to hang out. My dad, gentleman that he is, decided to blow his nose. But instead of using a handkerchief, he did a snot-rocket on the court. WHICH WAS INDOORS!! I. WAS. MORTIFIED.
1. And in #1, the MOST cringe-worthy of ALL TIME (during middle school). I had just gotten my period. Wearing the biggest, bulkiest pad there was. That thing could soak up oil spills. It was summer, I thought it would be ok to swim in Lake Michigan if I wore shorts on over my bathing suit. Hanging out with a group of classmates. Guess what came off and floated back to the group on a wave from Satan?! You guessed it. There is no nickname for this horror. People are still trying to forget it…”
He Discovered The Secret
“I thought I could impress girls with magic tricks.
Holy s–t just typing that sentence out is making my fingers spasm.
During the summer going into my first year of middle school, my family and I took a trip to Las Vegas because my uncle was getting married. We rented out a room in The Mirage hotel, and on one of the nights we were staying at the hotel there was a live magic show featuring a professional magician. I went to see it with my family, and the show was actually really cool. The magician was really good and he wasn’t cheesy or anything. He looked a lot like the American version of a young David Beckham.
Sitting behind me and my family was a group of 20-something girls who were probably there for a bachelorette party. Every time the magician did a trick these girls would go absolutely ballistic and start hooting and hollering at him.
Now, in hindsight, they were probably doing this because they thought he was hot (he was pretty attractive) and I’m sure they were probably just trying to get his attention.
That said, me being an 11 year old child who had only recently entered the initial stages of puberty, I was curious about why these girls were so impressed by this guy, and how I could use that knowledge for my own personal gain to impress girls myself. It never actually occurred to me that these girls just thought the guy was hot. That seemed too simple of a motive.
‘No, it must be that these girls were cheering so much because they love his magic tricks! Yeah that’s it! That’s the secret!’
So the conclusion that I reached from that experience was that if I was going to impress girls and make them want to go out with me, I needed to learn magic tricks.
Looking back, those first two months of middle school were a cringefest that one only gets to witness once in a lifetime.
I’d always have a deck of cards with me so I could perform card tricks at a moments notice. I also learned coin tricks, sleight of hand, and whatever other magic tricks I could learn from watching tutorial videos on YouTube.
Even worse, I performed all of my tricks with an incredibly creepy yet flamboyant showmanship. I didn’t just walk up to a girl and ask her to pick a card, I would walk up to her, and what happened next usually went something like this: ‘Hello there! Prepare to be amazed! PICK A CARD! ANY CARD! IT CAN BE THIS CARD! OR THIS CARD! SO MANY CHOICES! WHICH CARD WILL YOU CHOOSE?!?!?! HMMMMM… THAT’S A GOOD CHOICE! IS IT THE… HMMM… I KNOW! IT’S THE 3 OF DIAMONDS! …….. Oh, it’s…. it’s not the 3 of diamonds? Drat! Not again! Alright, I’m sorry for wasting your time. Hey can I please have my card back?’
Honestly the only real trick I ever pulled off which was even slightly impressive was making it through the whole school year without having my sexuality questioned.”
“In 1998, one of my friends got us really good seats to Janet Jackson’s Velvet Rope tour. He invited me and about 10 of our other friends to go. I didn’t really listen to Janet Jackson, but I knew she was cool or whatever so I wanted to go.
We got to the stadium and the show started and four guys came out. I had somehow managed to avoid learning who the opener was until that moment but as those four guys started singing I immediately knew it was 98 Degrees, and without realizing it I started freaking the hell out (I’m a guy btw). I started shouting along with a stadium full of teenage girls. There was a girl next to us who was crying and screaming and if I’d been paying attention, I would have noticed that none of my friends had even noticed. They were all looking at me as I was pretty close to tears myself.
I really liked 98 Degrees. Earlier that year I’d seen N*SYNC from 15 feet away and this was just a way, way, way bigger deal.
I spent the rest of the opener singing along to every song. During the pauses I would quip to the friends on either side of me, things like, ‘Drew’s the one soloing right now, he’s Nick’s brother, can you believe there’s that much talent in one family?’ or ‘Justin’s speaking voice could melt butter’ or maybe even ‘I wish we were closer.’
Later this same year I would perform As Long As You Love Me* with some friends at a school talent show. That would follow me through the rest of 8th grade, and 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th.
I regret NOTHING.
*It felt weird to betray 98 Degrees that way but let’s be honest, Backstreet Boys had more attainable choreography, a deeper discography, and better international releases. If 98 Degrees is a boy band fling, BSB is a marriage.”
The Yellow Legend
“Back in 6th grade, I really had to go to the toilet to take a dump, but my Science teacher just wouldn’t let me. So, I had no choice and ended up doing my business in my white school pants. I sat good on that squishy natural Kebab, leaving a yellow stain on the wall against which I was hiding my sin while cozily sitting on my bench. I deserve applause for not moving from my seat the whole day despite all the suspicious classmates pushing me to stand up. I was a soldier protecting my yellow a– from being seen by the unforgiving 6th grade crowd.
When everybody left, I somehow managed to sneak into the school bus like a ninja. I don’t know how I did it so stealthily with the yellow stain on my a–. After some time, when all kids were on board, the smell of my s–t hijacked the school bus and it was unanimously agreed that someone on the bus has s–tted his pants. Rather than playing the victim card, I pretended to be disgusted by the smell like everybody else on the bus and said things like – ‘Holy mother of..what the hell..seems like someone at the back forgot to wipe his a–.’ That was some confidence I had back then. Surprisingly I was able to convince some kids that someone in the backseat is the culprit. Unfortunately, when my stop came and I had to abandon my post, I wasn’t undercover anymore. So, as I got up and moved towards the door, everybody witnessed my Cersei’s walk of shame. But, I held my head high and didn’t turn, just heard laughter in the background…
Next day, there were 50 shades of yellow on the wall against which I had stuck my sweet a– for hours. Those shades didn’t go away entirely and the janitor hated me for that.
I am the Yellow Legend! S–t happens, but life goes on. Stay Strong.”
Maybe Try A Red Bull
“This is something I’ve kept hidden for so long, but it’s time to come clean. I tried to grow wings, for 3 years.
Okay, let me give some back story.
I’ve always loved flying and birds, and in 6th grade, I became infatuated with the ‘Maximum Ride’ series. The books are about a group of teens who are genetically modified to grow wings and they travel the world kicking butt. For some reason, I thought I could magically grow wings.
Enter 43 Things. This (now non-existent) website was used for people to help each other to complete life goals such as traveling to Asia, or go skydiving. After a bit of digging, I found a topic of ‘Grow Wings’ with a mere following of 400 people. I joined and viciously posted, wondering about people’s process with their wings and spells they used. One of the most popular (and effective so they said) spells was a ‘blessed’ feather spell. In short, you would bless the feathers with a spell, sprinkle rainwater over them, and tape them to your back FOR A WHOLE YEAR. Well, you can assume what I did.
Yup, I DUCT TAPED turkey feathers to my back. I slept with them on, went to school with them on, and even went to the gym with them on. I felt so special with the feathers touching my back all day, I could just imagine the wings sprouting there. During gym, I would go to the washroom to change so no one would see my taped feathery mess. It was a magical experience (except for the nightly excruciating pain of peeling of duct tape from my back), until it wasn’t.
Like I said, I wore these all the time, including to volleyball practice. Now, I’m a bit of a sweaty person, and tape and sweat don’t really mix too well. It wasn’t until I decided I needed to wear the feathers everywhere that I wore them to practice. After a bit of warming up, I could feel the feathers slipping, and I panicked. I ran to the bathroom and pulled them off. But now I had a wad of very large feathers (about a foot in length for each) and tape to somehow conceal before returning to the court. I gracefully tuck them in my shirt and sprinted out of the bathroom and knelt to my bag. Pretending to look for something in my bag, I shoved the feathers in.
After practice, my mom mentioned the feathers, and all I could say was ‘Oh, they got stuck to the inside of my shirt while I was cleaning them’ and she seemed satisfied. How was I suppose to explain the whole ritual and wing growing process? I knew it was crazy even at that age, but it was something I desperately wanted.”
When You HAVE To Be Different
“Oh there are many…
-At school dances, I would purposefully sit in the corner and not dance, and whenever people would ask me what was wrong I would just grumble about how much I hate society or something.
-I cut my own side bangs. My mother screamed at me for weeks afterwards about it, and now I don’t blame her. It was really bad.
-I told everybody in my classes that I was the daughter of Apollo, and I would really get into the act because I thought everybody believed me. I had this pen with a clip that looked like an arrow, and (inspired by the Percy Jackson books) I would tell people that whenever I would unscrew it, it would become a bow, and I would do it in class, and whenever people would say I’m full of crap, I would say something like, ‘THE GODS HAVE NOT GIVEN YOU THE GIFT THEN.’ I was really into the Percy Jackson books.
-My friends and I would like to sit in the middle of the field during recess and hold hands and sing — just to disturb the people playing football.
-My friends and I would sing at the top of our lungs during lunch (everybody had lunch outside in a covered area with picnic tables), and whenever people would ask us to stop, we would sing louder and embarrass ourselves even more.
-The outfits. Oh man, the outfits. Whenever I would go out with friends, I would always try to dress all uniquely, which resulted in a lot of terrible fashion choices. Once I went out with friends wearing a long yellow polo shirt, a black dress skirt that went below my knees, and black Vans with striped knee high socks. And this was 2011. Not even the early 2000s.
-I wrote a 400 page story on Word which was a heavily fictionalized story of my life, and it was the worst. Here’s the first paragraph of it. I gag a little bit whenever I read it”
’14-year-old Irene Philomoir grew up in Charleston for most of her life (she was born in New York City) and knows the Spanish moss-covered ropes like the back of her Hand. However, you wouldn’t have guessed she was from the Deep South. Her hair is long and dirty blond, and her skin pale white. Red under the faded hazel eyes with a few zits here and there. No perfectly tanned skin, no shiny and sleek hair, no blue baby eyes, and no Republican views. Irene is very odd in a whimsical way. Not at all popular or swooned by boys.’
-I would try to break up the play-fighting between the guys in my class, thinking it was all real, and I would end up crying about how there’s no world peace. Which reminds me of my terrible peace sign phase. I think everybody had a terrible peace sign phase.
Overall, I wasn’t too bad. I think I just prided myself too much in being ‘eccentric’ or ‘different’ from everybody else. If I could go back and talk to 12-year-old me, I would tell myself to (1) chill with the peace signs and fake glasses, (2) dress like everybody else until I actually figure out my style, and (3) accept and support everybody else and don’t think I’m that much different or more special than everybody else.”
But Wait, There’s More
“I was in seventh grade drama class and had to perform a monologue. For whatever reason, I decided to be Marie Antoinette about to be guillotined.
My grandmother and mom obligingly made me a very over-the-top Late Baroque gown. It called for quite a lot of material and the occasion didn’t really merit big spending, so they used this blue vinyl stuff that had the texture of those cheap temporary tablecloths. It was stiflingly hot, and it was stitched to pounds and pounds of cheap eyelet lace.
To complete the look, they stitched more stiff and unlikely lace to a ribbon choker. I pulled off this nightmare ensemble with my big old tortoiseshell glasses and my auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. For some reason, I stopped short of a wig, which might actually have rescued the costume. I wore freakin’ panniers, for goodness’ sake, but not a wig. Because let’s not overdo it here, right?
I swished into school in this monstrosity, feeling gorgeous and wanting to stretch out the time in my lovely gown for as long as I could. It crackled when I sat and the panniers stuck out on either side of my seat by about a foot. I didn’t have shoes to match so I wore a pair of Eastland loafers that poked out from under the hem like tattered mud-flaps. People stared, and justifiably so. They were green with envy, watching Marie Antoinette herself stroll the hallways with her algebra text, clamoring to breathe in the scent of sweaty vinyl in her wake.
As if all of this wasn’t enough, I had a prop, too. It didn’t fit in my locker, so I had to carry it with me. It was a cardboard cutout of a prison window, complete with a guillotine in a bright and cheery meadow beyond. I’d gotten the stories of Anne Boleyn’s heartbreakingly sunny springtime execution mixed up with Marie Antoinette’s dismal autumn execution in my head. I’d done the cutout myself in pastels, sprayed it with fruit-scented hairspray to fix the dust, and designed it to prop up in the chalk tray to gaze at as I made my speech. It was even written in my script:
Gaze out window, forlornly.
…are you cringing yet? Because I am. Hard.
In the immortal words of Billy Mays, But wait! There’s more!
I did the entire thing in a French accent. But it was French according to what I had heard at home, which sounded nothing like any cliché Parisian stuff that my classmates had ever heard and certainly nothing like Marie Antoinette would have uttered, even in her most Germanic days at the Austrian court.
I believe my monologue lasted about ten minutes, or was supposed to, and I would like to apologize for every single second of it.
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
“I was in love with my next-door neighbor. He was sixteen, and I was eleven. To be fair, he’d spent more time at our house, with my big sister and me, than he did at his own. We played all kinds of games–charades comes to mind as a favorite. The three of us built a fort in the woods behind our houses. He read all my poems and tried to teach me to write stories, seemed to like my songs. He had always encouraged me to develop better taste in music.
Music, ah. Late summer, when he hadn’t been around in a while (but I knew he was home), I started to hang out on my front porch after dinner and loudly sing all the love songs I’d ever known, knowing he would have to hear me from his bedroom. Loudly. I sang all the great ’80s Gloria Estefan love ballads. Tiffany, a few George Michael hits…was Lisa Lisa involved? Oh yes, Lisa Lisa was definitely involved.
Night after night I sang my heart out to the neighborhood, all for the love of Chris.
He did finally come back, but we never spoke of that week of serenading.”
“Are you aware of the term Weeaboo? The ones of you who are must already be holding your stomachs and dry-heaving but to those of you who aren’t, Weeaboo is an American who is feverishly obsessed with Japan/anime/manga. Your typical Weeaboo can be seen fervently defending the honor of anime, hanging out in the international snack isle of Pier 1, sweating in the manga aisle of Barnes & Noble, adding random Japanese words to their sentences, yelling at their parents about how they are going to move to Japan to make anime so there’s no reason to go to college….oh my god, my stomach, I may need to take some pepto-bismol before I can go any further.
As you may have already assumed, yes, I was one. Where do I even begin, my goodness. I’ll make a list.
1) The small amount of money I did have (birthday, Christmas) went into dressing like an anime character. I thought I looked really cool. You’ll be shocked to know: I didn’t.
2) I was way into kuudere anime characters, i.e., characters who were cool, emotionless and unfazed. In reality, I was being the equivalent, which is called an a–hole.
3) I ran like a dumba–, with my arms held out straight behind me like the characters in Naruto. cringe cringe spasm
4) I was pretty darn sure that my kicka– ‘super kawaii’ art would be a springboard into my future as a manga artist.
5) I peppered my sentences with kawaii, desu, ne?, etc…I referred to my brother as ‘onisan’ and called myself an ‘otaku.’ Despite being the Japanese wiz I was, I didn’t know that and otaku is a derogatory word for a shut in loser with no life (roughly). Now that I think about it, that was actually pretty apropos.
I’m going to stop there, my heart can’t take much more self-deprecating nostalgia.”
Oh She Knows
“I asked a gorgeous girl, whom I had a crush on, if she knew why so many people make a big deal about the number 69. I really had no idea, but apparently she did, because she blushed when she said, ‘I have no idea.’ When I found out later on, the significance of this number, I was mortified and couldn’t look her in the eye.”
What A Freak
“I don’t even know where to start with this. I was a complete freak, so strange, so urghhhhh at that age.
-On mufti (dress down) days, I would wear odd Converse shoes of different colours, with different coloured knee high length stripy socks and draw a lightning bolt with eyeliner by my eye. Or I’d wear bright green skinny jeans, with a florescent pink studded belt and some crappy rock band t-shirt.
My friends and I used to make weird ‘parody’ videos and put them on YouTube when we were thirteen- the amount of hate comments on them was truly remarkable. For instance, we had a doll (WHY?) that we used to cart around town on Saturdays that we called Michael Abdudewengo and we would put the doll in someone’s shopping basket and film us screaming ‘YOU STOLE MY FIRST BORN’ in their faces. There were so many horrific scenarios we ‘acted’ out. Another one was where we filmed a murder mystery in a park, and my friend stuffed dry bread in my mouth as a gag to stop me screaming. This is on video somewhere still.
-Used to go on ChatRoulette with my friends with our faces covered. My friend Antonio was fat, we would put him in a bra and chat to guys from Turkey.
-Wearing a bra with about three cup sizes of jelly-like filler in it, with the tightest back and bra strap to make it look like I had a cleavage.
-Going to a house party aged thirteen and pretending to be sixteen, drinking water out of a vodka bottle to fit in. Getting ‘outted’ as a thirteen year old and being told to go home.”
Peanuts And Bagina
“In sixth grade, my science teacher announced that we would be starting a unit called ‘Human Growth and Development.’ I think you know where I’m going with this.
The day before the unit started, some kids were standing outside the classroom giggling. They said that the teacher had told them we were doing an exercise where they would go around saying ‘peanuts’ and ‘bagina’ to each other- or at least, that’s what I heard.
So naïve, 10-year-old me went from random person to random person telling them ‘peanuts’ and ‘bagina’ in order to demonstrate that I did not think this was a big deal.
Imagine my absolute horror when we started the unit the next day.”
The Grapefruit Incident
“It was a mild spring day. A day with my regular classes; English, Math, Social Studies, Science, Gym, and Music. But, something absolutely monumental happened that day, a day that would go down in infamy. I got $5 from my mom…for me to keep for my allowance (take note that this didn’t happen often). I put the five-dollar bill in the pocket of my jacket. Of course, being a 6th grader, this was the best day of my life as I have just received my life’s earnings. So fast forward a couple of hours and I found myself in Social Studies class, right before lunch. I searched my pocket for my $5 bill, but it wasn’t there.
‘Oh s–t. Where the hell is my five dollars!?’
Being stressed, I ravaged through every pocket, every binder, every corner of the classroom in order to find my prized possession. As the class was starting to leave for lunch, I told my Social Studies teacher about my missing dollar and she quarantined the entire class, interrogating each student about the whereabouts of my money. Unfortunately, no one had seen my five dollar bill and she allowed for everyone to leave.
Flooding with tears, I went down to the cafeteria, rushing to get to the table with my friends. Seeing me distressed, many people came to placate and make me feel better. Some students from other tables came to see the commotion and around 14 people surrounded me.
I look up, With eyes as red as a grapefruit… ‘I l-l-lost m-my fi-ve dollars!’
So of course, for the rest of the day everyone was sympathetic and helped me through my trauma. The whole grade knew of my dilemma. That day was truly terrible.
So, you know the part after I got my five dollar bill from my mom and put it in my pocket. Ya… uh, I happened to not bring that exact jacket to school that day. So the next school day, as I reached into my pocket in the middle of class in order to pull out a used tissue, I felt a stiff, paper like substance, and subsequently pulled it out onto my desk.
Eventually, word got out that I didn’t actually lose my five dollar bill and this event went down in infamy as the grapefruit incident.”
Being Weird = Cringeworthy
“You know the thought of being weird and random = quirky. Years later you can see me doubling over in embarrassment.
1) I used to ‘inject’ people with pens… What the hell was I thinking?! Yes there was consent, but seriously. I would first apply the ‘antiseptic’ (a wash of highlighter) and then prep the area (use of a ballpoint pen). Then I would press the end of the pen with quite an amount of pressure into the arm.
2) I used to tie shoelaces in my hair. I thought that shoelaces was the ‘quirky’ and ‘different’ way to tie up my hair. This also kind of tied in with my tom boy phase where I refused to wear ribbons. In addition to this…
3) I didn’t wear a bra to my formal and I wore a Jersey Dress. ENOUGH SAID.
4) I used to be so weird around my crushes. I had to sit next to one of my crushes for an entire year of English. He would constantly ask for high fives or something but I would always reply: ‘My hands are sweaty.’
What was I thinking?!!”
Cheeks Still Burn
“My first year of public school I made my own shoes and t-shirts every other week and wore them until they fell apart or fell off. This mostly involved gilded t-shirts, glitter glue, glow in the dark paint, fake flowers and googly eyes. Either that, or I dressed like a small boy with rainbow shoe laces. The first time I did this, I was still pretty Catholic School trained, and I asked my English teacher for permission to wear this glue sodden outfit. She slowly said, ‘I think that’s okay,’ looking up and down at the home stitched skirt made out of a thrift store t-shirt, fake flower covered shoes, and a small, velvet top with So. Many. Rhinestones.
When I was 14 I qualified for the state swim meet. At a t-shirt making party (so many t-shirts guys) I impulsively covered my very hairy legs (still didn’t start shaving yet) in silver glitter glue and then could not remove it at all. I had chunks of hair and glitter on my legs in all of my qualifying races, and the senior I was in love with brought it up all the time as the funniest thing he had ever seen someone do before an event. Cheeks still burn.”
“One day, I randomly decided that it was cool to wear paperclips on the sides of my glasses. I wore those paperclips for months…
For a few years, I thought hair gel was the coolest thing ever. Picture a 13-year-old girl running around with long, curly hair, and it’s all plastered down flat to her head. It wasn’t pretty… (At the time, I was also using an acne medicine that was strong enough to bleach hair. It gave me thick blond streaks running down both sides of my face. Also not pretty…)
I thought sideburns were really cool, but I didn’t really understand where they came from. I decided to cut the hair in front of my ears super short, so I could have sideburns. Awesome.
In one of my classes, a cute boy sat right behind me. He thought it would be funny to pull out pieces my hair, one at a time. I hated it with a passion, but I let him do it because he was dreamy!
I was jealous of a friend because she was dating my crush. I wrote a song called ‘My friend’s dating a guy I like’ and played it for some of our other friends. In my naïveté, I never dreamed that word would get back to her…but oh, it did.
When I first got my period, I was too embarrassed to tell my mom about it. My sisters had some pads and stuff, so I just dipped into their supply. When I was done with them, I didn’t want to throw them away because then my mom would find out. So I hid the used pads under my bed!
My older brother drove me crazy. One day, I got really tired of him pestering me. So I did what any kid would do… I bagged up some urine and left it on top of his pillow.”
“7th grade was the worst. It all started when I dyed my beautiful light blonde hair black, and had roots for months. I also let my sister cut it, so it was all uneven.
I put bandages in random places, the cringiest being on my nose.
I got a black eyeliner that had almost been completely used, and to get the ‘huge eye’ look I just put it only on the outer half of my lower lashline. That was it.
I would use random Japanese words in sentences.
I would shout and become obnoxious during lessons, and if someone pissed me off I would screech at them and throw things.
I bragged about how cool My Chemical Romance was. They had broken up by that time.
I would spend break time drawing My Little Ponies.
I think the cringiest thing I have done is made a YouTube channel and uploaded my little pony videos, and one of me singing. I didn’t know how to pitch shift either, so I just sped it up. It was awful. Luckily I came to my senses and deleted it.”
“I once traded a shoe with my friend who wore the same shoe size. I went around school wearing one purple converse with white laces and one neon green converse with purple laces. Talk about tacky.
I tried to achieve emo hair. I would straighten my naturally wavy hair and flip part of it over so the hair would fall in front of my eyes. I also wore feathers in my hair.
In my dance class, we had to wear jazz pants or black leggings. I wore black leggings, and after a few months of wearing them every day, I got a huge hole in the inner thigh. I still continued to wear them every day, which I probably should not have.
Not knowing how to shop for myself, I would buy jeans too small for myself and shirts that wouldn’t cover my butt, revealing my muffin top. Yikes…
I would wear my black hoodie to school almost every day, even when it was close to 90 degrees outside, and I wouldn’t wear a shirt underneath it, meaning I would be hot all day because I couldn’t take it off.
I would wear yellow jeggings that were relatively thin with red ‘granny panties’ that showed right through. What was I thinking?
I could add more, but I don’t wanna relive my awkward middle school days.”