A video has recently been making the rounds on various forms of social media contrasting pre-teens in the late ‘90s with pre-teens in 2020. The video shows the hip youth of today doing choreographed dances in trendy (and tiny) clothes to songs that I can only assume are popular (I know almost nothing about cool music these days).
This genius cinematographer then edits in what are likely home videos from her own childhood. She is swaying along to a Backstreet Boys song looking anything but trendy. The message is simple: today’s pre-teens have zero traces of the awkwardness many of us endured over twenty years ago.
As I watched this video, I was CRYING with laughter.
I WAS this girl in the late ‘90s. (Seriously, down to attempting to dance to the exact same song while wearing the exact same tech vest from Old Navy.) I wasn’t glam, my dance moves were the polar opposite of suggestive, and the most scandalous article of clothing I owned was a one-piece Speedo bathing suit.
I never thought I’d utter (or write) these words, but I am so grateful I had an awkward phase. Though I’m now in my mid-30s, I can still so vividly recall details from those sometimes uncomfortable years full of change. I had braces for four years (complete with a nighttime headgear, which made for super fun slumber party apparel). I had bushy eyebrows decades before they were fashionable. I certainly didn’t know how to style my hair or do anything with make-up.
From 11 until nearly 13, I was in that transitional age of not really knowing where I fit. I wanted to grow up, while still keeping one foot firmly planted in my childhood. Part of me still kind of liked playing with my American Girl dolls, while another part of me was very intrigued by the shocking exploits of seven strangers living in the Real World house. I wanted to shop in the chic juniors section but felt more at home in my baggy Gap Kids overalls. I bought body glitter at Afterthoughts but was far too self-conscious to actually wear it to school. My room was adorned with posters of Nick Carter and his perfect middle part, yet the thought of “going out” with a boy I was on safety patrol duty with was entirely unappealing.
If my friends and I wanted to call a boy, we had to muster the courage to call a landline and risk the very embarrassing potential encounter with a parent answering the phone. And if the object of affection happened to answer, you had to speak real, actual words THEN and THERE. There was no texting, no snapping, no DM-ing involved. In a word, it was terrifying.
Over 20 years ago, filters didn’t exist. YouTube tutorials didn’t exist. Social media didn’t exist. Let’s be honest: had these been around during my youth, I would have embarrassed myself far more than I already did. Not to mention, the pressure to look picture perfect would have likely wreaked havoc on my already fragile self-esteem.
At 35, I sometimes find myself caught in the comparison trap of social media; I can’t imagine how I would have handled that at 12 or 13. My adolescent years were an altogether different time, and a part of me wishes I could be raising my children then instead of now.
Of course, there were a few magical girls who managed to emerge from puberty unscathed. But the vast majority of us were awkward. The beauty of my awkward phase is that it preserved my innocence. It kept me safely placed in childhood for a few more years, and for that, I am thankful. In truth, a big part of me will probably always feel like that awkward sixth-grader. I still don’t know how to properly apply eyeliner, I only learned how to curl my hair in the last five years, and certain social situations will probably always cause me anxiety.
Don’t tell my kids, but I’m not-so-secretly holding out hope that one day they have a few awkward years as well. No one needs to be in a rush to grow up, especially these days. I want to keep my kids KIDS for as long as I can and let them enjoy their childhoods. But let’s get one thing straight: I wouldn’t wish my 1998 eyebrows on anyone.
