Updated: Feb. 16, 2021 | Originally Published: June 2, 2005
As I stand at the threshold of raising my first of three daughters—ages 6, 8, and 10—the pressure to fit in is knocking on our door, getting louder by the day. I find myself wincing at the thought of imposing the same pains I experienced growing up onto my girls, who will undoubtedly face their own unique challenges. Yet, I can’t help but think that a few lessons from my own childhood might offer some guidance for the bumpy road that lies ahead.
One standout memory comes to mind. Growing up, my family wasn’t destitute, but we certainly weren’t rolling in it either. This middle ground meant I avoided the worst of the social ostracism but didn’t quite blend in with the affluent crowd. Fortunately, my parents valued authenticity over status symbols. They were laid-back, fun-loving free spirits, and I was blissfully unaware of our financial constraints—until the infamous upside-down triangle logo made its entrance.
It was the early 80s, and all my classmates paraded around in peg-legged Guess jeans, Izod shirts, and Members Only jackets—definitely not the crowd I aspired to join. I was content in my bell-bottom jeans, or so I thought.
During an infrequent shopping trip with my mom, I was playing hide and seek among the circular racks when I spotted that triangle on a pair of size 27 denim jeans. I pulled them out and held them up, my heart racing as I noticed they were marked down from $75 to $38.
“Mom, look what I found!” I exclaimed when she emerged from the dressing room.
“Jeans?” she asked.
“Yes, but they’re Guess jeans! Can I please have them? I swear I won’t ask for anything else. Everyone at school has them!” Even as the words left my mouth, I felt like I was in a cliché after-school special about fitting in.
She looked at me with kindness, hesitantly approaching. I could see the tags of her newly purchased clothes peeking out, and I felt a wave of shame for my intense desire for those jeans. “Let me think about it,” she finally said, and I nodded, grateful for any possibility.
Moments later, she approached the register, and my heart sank as I prepared to return the jeans to the rack. I hung them back incorrectly, just to linger a moment longer. But as I stood next to her at the cash register, she gently touched my hand and said, “Go get them.”
“Huh?” I stammered.
“If you really want them, I’ll buy them for you.” My heart soared as I rushed back to grab the jeans, hope bubbling up inside me.
The cashier smiled and remarked, “Guess jeans, nice.” I envisioned all my fitting-in woes disappearing the moment I wore them to school.
The next day, the jeans hung in my room until I finally wore them to school. As it turned out, they were straight legs, not the coveted peg-legs, and my attempts to roll them up only made them look bulky. I left my shirt untucked because tucking it in felt odd.
Just outside the school gates, I overheard some girls behind me: “Looks like she has inner tubes around her ankles.” “Are those boy pants?” “I didn’t know Guess could make ugly styles.”
I whirled around, horrified to find they were indeed talking about me. You know those cringeworthy moments in Disney sitcoms when the mean girls slow down their insults? It happens in real life, and it felt like time had frozen.
As those girls walked away, I remembered my mom at the cash register, thinking she was gifting me inclusion. After that day, I still wore those jeans, but the teasing continued. I let my shirts hang over the triangle and gave up on rolling the legs. They were just my jeans, nothing more. I never told my mom how much I was teased for them.
Yet, over the years, I learned something vital: no clothing item or status symbol can truly make you fit in. Sure, I’ve daydreamed about owning a pair of Louboutins or a chic Gucci handbag, but honestly, I’m not that kind of girl. Designer jeans? Perhaps! But finding the right cut is a challenge, given my calves can rival the size of most women’s thighs. And let’s not even get started on shoes—finding a 10.5 is like hunting for unicorns!
Looking at my three daughters, I hope to instill in them the freedom to love their own unique styles—whether that’s Finley not wanting to pierce her ears, Briar avoiding jeans altogether, or Avery opting for hoodies every day. Each of us deserves to embrace our own preferences without feeling pressured to conform. Trying to fit into someone else’s world through a backdoor will never lead to genuine happiness.
And just for the record, I have a soft spot for being rickrolled. #notsorry
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Summary:
In this nostalgic reflection, the author shares lessons learned from childhood about fitting in and the importance of embracing individuality. Through a personal story about a pair of Guess jeans, she illustrates that no clothing or status symbol can create true belonging. Instead, she emphasizes the importance of letting her daughters express their unique styles without succumbing to societal pressures.