This weekend, I was walking downtown to meet a friend visiting from New York, when a group of girls passed by on the sidewalk. One of them dribbled a Spalding basketball on the street shoulder, looking me up and down out of the corner of her eye, as if she and I were engaged in a silent game of one-on-one. I got the sense she had some strategy to play out, an endgame to achieve. Predictably, she screamed an insult as she passed. Nice outfit. Her friends giggled. I ignored them. They could not have been a day over thirteen, which means they do not yet know the wonderful secret of adulthood: teasing no longer matters.
One year short of thirty, I have finally regained some confidence. All the highschool teasing about my used and no-name clothes, my drunk father blasting Hank Williams out of his rusty pickup, epilepsy, and lack of money for field trips and proper track shoes no longer matters. Turning eighteen did not set me free. Neither did college - where the feelings of not fitting in were only magnified, since I could not relate to the wealthy (or well-heeled, cultured, and well-clothed and funded) students all around me, but also lost most of my old friends (and even family) with every change in vocabulary and tastes, evey new bit of knowledge, every paradigm shift. What set me free was time. That, and finding the right mentor in graduate school, someone who understood the organic relationships between my experiences and my experimental writing.
So when these kids passed by, I did not really notice. Not until I realized they were still screaming, even half a block away. Bitch, your clothes don't match. Your momma never taught you how to dress.
I am not exactly a fashionista, but I do have a degree in art history. I know something about aesthetics. At the very least, I know how to match. That day, I happened to be wearing a handmade dress, designed and sewn by a woman in Raleigh, North Carolina. I love this dress, with its muslin-lined bodice and lace-through back. I love knowing that my clothes were not serged in a sweatshop, but rather, sewn-to-order by a mother who makes enough money to stay home with her toddlers. She cuts fabric while the kids play nearby. This means no logos, no brands, and no bland sameness. Every item is one of a kind.
Those girls were not offended by color schemes. They were offended by uniqueness. Had they ever seen a handmade dress? Do they understand how most clothes are produced, with women and children bent over machines for ten hours or more, no lunch or restroom breaks, abuse and rape rampant, insufficient ventilation, no benefits, no vacation, little pay? They were all dressed in head-to-toe Nike: unflattering track pants, swoosh tee shirts, obnoxious astronaut shoes. Even their bags sported logos from famous sportswear companies - Puma, Reebok, Nike.
I stopped walking, cupped my hands over my mouth and screamed, At least my clothes did not come from a sweatshop. The girls doubled over laughing, gave me the finger, and turned around. The one with the basketball told me to watch my step.
Watch my step.
For those of you who think we cannot make a difference, that our everyday actions are not political, that our choices hold no power, I ask the following questions: What is it about a handmade dress that inspires a violent threat? How does a one-of-a-kind design provoke teenage girls? How does it draw out their viciousness and anger? What really happened on that sidewalk?
Comments (9)
Hee hee. I just realized I typed *magnetized* instead of *magnified* in paragraph two. I really should not post before coffee ... all fixed now. *blush*
Posted by karrie | April 19, 2004 9:38 AM
Posted on April 19, 2004 09:38
I prefer the irony of the reverse situation, where they do actually think they're making a difference, politically or socially, by doing exactly what "they" want you to do.
I work at a record store, and I love it when kids come in to buy punk CDs or clever t-shirts emblazened with the socially correct anti-authority slogans.
"Fuck Britney Spears, man, she's so sold out. Oh well, here's $19.99 for this NOFX t-shirt."
The world would be a much better place if everyone had some understanding of irony.
Not that I'm any better. I have no doubt that somehow, prison labor was involved in the production of my favorite clothes. But, I don't complain about it or pretend to be any better.
Put up or shut up. Thanks for leading by example and actually...y'know...putting up.
--J
Posted by Josh | April 19, 2004 9:14 PM
Posted on April 19, 2004 21:14
So you get hard time for wearing color and I get a hard time for not. To much black, "you Satanist" I hear people hell. In Idaho and Utah it was really bad, back in the super goth or skater days. I started wearing a shirt I still keep in my closet that says, in bold capital letters "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU THINK" that way, if they felt the need to say something about my dress, they got a silent response. But in the event you yell something back to losers like that, they always want to fight or threat violence. I started the technique of pretending that I don't understand and say, "what"?, "what's that"? "Satan"? "Who is that"? O ya, Saaaaaaaaatan, that is a really good meat supplement, I eat it all the time! ha, I always act really confused. It pisses people off.
Posted by skitlegrindr | April 19, 2004 10:45 PM
Posted on April 19, 2004 22:45
I wouldnt take too much notice of thirteen year old girls. They're most likely just infected over their heads with massmedia 'messages' telling them whats right and wrong, cool and uncool and has yet to develop a life of their own.
I do to wear non-brand clothes, sometimes second hand, sometimes locally produced stuff. Almost all my clothes are unique, i like it that way.
Just like you i too was bullied the other day for what i choose to wear. I wish it would have been kids but it actually was some of my collegues! Now, Im the same age as you and i dont take much notice of it, it doesnt really affect me at all but still its sad to see theese 30-somethings in their sad branded outfits talk me down. I didnt ask them to stop nor did i tell them to fuck off, instead i just joined in and went with the flow. I mean, it doesnt affect me and yes i do to think that some of my t-shirts are funny - thats the whole point, that plus the irony of the printed message.
After a while we stopped and we are all friends (well we were never actually friends in the first place but ye know - we're collegues and has to remain friendly with each other).
Its just sad that even at our age you're talked down if your not wearing stereotyped brand-wear...
Well, time for me to go to work now. I think I'll put on one of my gorgeus second hand fake lacoste t'shirts :)
take care
/jens :)
Posted by jens | April 19, 2004 11:34 PM
Posted on April 19, 2004 23:34
I love all these comments - thanks to everyone who posted!
I am sort of ashamed for yelling back at the girls. As Josh points out, we are probably all guilty of supporting prison labor, sweatshops, or other evils - often without even knowing it. It seems almost impossible to bust free of the system. (And Josh, I love your point about how we can feel like we're making a difference, even while we're playing right into the system. So true.)
But even beyond that, why did I yell back? Why not just ignore a gaggle of teenage girls?
Maybe because they were so damn vicious - screaming insults all the way down the street. Or maybe because I love that dress so much. Every time I put it on, I feel this energy - a live connection to another human being. I think of the woman who made it, and I cannot help but smile.
Jens - you are so right about the girls. How could they possibly have a developed sense of self at that age? They are just following the advertisements and messages they see. Hopefully, they will break out soon and find their own way. (This is part of why I feel ashamed for yelling back. I should have shown a good example, by not reacting. That would be more compassionate, no?)
And skitlegrindr! Damn, I love what you wrote. Satan as meat supplement! Haaaaaaaaaa. I love your attitude, how your rebellion has a sense of humor, too.
Posted by karrie | April 20, 2004 6:47 AM
Posted on April 20, 2004 06:47
ha, reading my last post.... I realize how bad my grammar sucked...hee hee was I tired, stupid or..did I have a beer. eshh. this blogging stuff is fun. :)
Posted by sg | April 22, 2004 2:20 AM
Posted on April 22, 2004 02:20
ha, reading my last post.... I realize how bad my grammar sucked...hee hee was I tired, stupid or..did I have a beer. eshh. this blogging stuff is fun. :)
Posted by sg | April 22, 2004 2:20 AM
Posted on April 22, 2004 02:20
You trust yourself to make solid, world-smart decisions, as you should. Why not trust your instincts in your decision to confront these girls? Thirteen is old enough to know right from wrong, and obviously somebody needs to instruct them on how to behave. You think that you lowered yourself by reacting in kind, and that all it bought you that day was more grief. But you are wrong. They heard you. It registered. And maybe one of the group will remember it and NOT pick on someone the next time. Probably not, but certainly not if you don't try.
You got bullied, and bullying is never about the person being picked on. Maybe you were in the ball-bouncer's path, or she was working on a power trip and you had the nerve to look her in the eyes and not glance away. Maybe it was something in the way you walked that was strong or defiant or not-intimidated enough and the bully wanted to secure her tough girl image with her sycophant friends. She had to say something to bring you down.
Twelve to 14 is a tough period even under the most ideal conditions. The kids go through so many changes that they find odd comfort in uniformity, especially in clothing. She had nothing else to grab on to to take you down, other than your outfit, and only because it was not typical or common. The verbal weapons cache at that age is still so limited. (In fact, having spent the clothes remark, the gratuitous "fuck you", and the non-specific threat to safety on you, the only thing they had left in their repetoir was something about your mother.)
So, instead of moving that dress to the back of the closet, you should smile at the fact that you didn't just lay down when some punk 13 year old decided to be a little shit.
Posted by Catherine | April 25, 2004 4:33 AM
Posted on April 25, 2004 04:33
Karrie, this piece really moved me---on so many levels....want you to write a memoir with this voice...stitched together, handmade, like the clothing in question...always in question.....---there are no ordinary moments are there?
Posted by joel | April 27, 2004 5:45 AM
Posted on April 27, 2004 05:45