Anyone my age knows them well, and if you’re like me, you’ve been feeling slightly gooey at noticing they’re back Friendship bracelets.
Rewind to 1986. I was 12 years old and in Grade 7. It was the year of Top Gun, Manic Monday and Granny Mays Paper shops.
Weekdays we were trussed up in a six-part school uniform, kept perfect by a dress code enforced with military-like zeal.
On weekends we dressed in navy blue Esprit windcheaters, pleated Corfu jeans, and those funny little fringed loafers with the coins on them. There was the occasional frilly collar too – we weren’t particularly cool.
Enter the friendship bracelet. My friend Georgie rocked up to class one day after a long-weekend at home on the farm, slyly rolling up her shirt sleeve, revealing a little mass of brightly coloured cotton threads. We were aghast and thrilled by her rebellion.
“They won’t come off unless you cut them” she confided.
Georgie had older sisters in their last of high school, and by that association had always been much groovier than the rest of us. Now not only did she know all the lyrics to every Cold Chisel song ever released, but now she was a style-maven too.
For the next few months groups of us gathered at lunchtimes, weaving away, truly putting our pre-adolescent hearts in to the job of tailor-making beautiful wrist bands for our best-friends, and extras for swapping. It could get a little competitive, but the process was imbued with an innocence and warmth, that as adults we just can’t muster anymore.