I guess as far as crimes against fashion go, my mother would have been considered a repeat offender. She rarely put herself in the firing line however, oh no, I seemed to be the one taking the bullet. Her biggest misdemeanour involved me. And my hair. See she liked my hair short. I liked it long but I was 6 so she won that particular round. Exhibit A:
The worst was yet to come though. And it happened when I should have been at the top of my game, Year 6. Well technically I gave her the go ahead. See, she loved to see me with short hair, while I on the other hand, knew the only way to my first kiss and/or boyfriend was to not look like a guy. But she got me with the almighty dollar. She offered me fifty bucks if I would get my hair cut short. See, right there, that’s messed up. I mean, who does that? But being the easily bought little good for nothing that I was, I accepted.
I took my Dolly Magazine down to the salon, showed the hairdresser a picture of a model with a short yet stylish short ‘do’, sat down and waited to be transformed. The result? A brunette Ronald McDonald.
Pretty much not one of my school “friends” spoke to me for almost 5 months. Here’s a heads up: Fifty bucks can only buy you so many packets of chicken twisties and hair gel to take away the pain.
Now they say clothes don’t maketh the man, but they almost certainly maketh the teenager, raging her way through puberty. I am testament to this. See, back when I was around 14, I wanted labels. Those labels on the Gold Coast were Cheetah and Oakley. Sadly, even back then, over 20 years ago, a pair of Cheetah togs were $70. Oakley sunnies were over a hundred, yet the fact that mum could not supply these made me feel undeservedly hard done by.
So we improvised. Or should I say, she improvised. Rather than forking out for a pair of Cheetah Tracksuit pants to take away on my year ten camp, Mum Hobbytexed CHEETAH onto some generic white $7 Best and Less ones. This was basically social suicide.
She also made a lot of my clothes. Here I am in a little number I like to call nylon apocalypse. I would wear this outfit roller skating. Sometimes with a fetching flip skirt, just to mix things up.
And the fact that they she was a few decades behind the fashion world didn’t stop her from dabbling in matching twin sets on a constant basis. Like this cheesecloth one. Oh God.
This, to a girl trying to forge her way in the very fucked up pecking order of early high school, caused issues. Now of course I know she made these with love, and with the best of intentions. In hindsight of course I do, but let’s face it, 14 year old girls can be complete molls and rather ungrateful.
So have I learnt anything from my childhood? Will I be inflicting my own sense of style upon my own children or letting them decide for themselves? A bit of both I suppose. History shows that I myself may have given my now 14 year old daughter a legoman haircut once upon a time. I’d like to believe that it’s character building.
Now it’s your turn. Share those embarrassing photos of the crimes against humanity your own parents inflicted upon you.
Top Comments
Haha I feel your pain. My Mum would NOT let me grow my hair throughout childhood. The boy pricess style was from about 2-7 and then the 'bob' cut until about 14. I always always wanted to have long hair
Same! Now I have long hair and I don't when I'll ever embrace short hair again maybe 60's
I'm also not sure how to upload to here, but my grade 5 school photo will never, ever be shared voluntarily. My mother never bribed me with money in exchange for bad haircuts. I just got taken to my aunt's place (she was a hairdresser) and they chatted while she cut...for a long time. My mother was also a dressmaker, some clothes were good, some awful, but all lasted a long time, they were so well made.
You should see my grade 3 photo. It looks like I have been wrestling with god knows what. My tie is under one ear, my hair looks like I have put my finger in an electric socket and I am generally filthy. My poor mother had to pay good money for that!
Oh dear, treasure memories. Bet you're not gonna put it up here. Yeah, the grade 5 one had me in a polo neck jumper, which I remember hating the itchy neck of and the obligatory helmet haircut. The worst thing of all was my fringe was visibly higher one side than the other. I was also not allowed to grow my hair until I complained in year 7. Result my hair got to my hips in my 20s and all my girls have been allowed very long hair.....
I was lucky in the fringe department as I have a humongous cowlick on one side (whyyyyy), and even my mother realised fringes were a no-go zone. Also lucky that she let me have long hair after about seven years old, but always threatening to cut it as it was always knotty and conditioner hadn't been invented yet! Vive la conditioner....
I can't even remember if we had conditioner....