I love jeans. They are the one clothing item I wear (when not in Lycra) 99% of the time. Maybe it was because as a kid I never owned any, (I always had to make do with my brother’s hand-me-downs). Not that I cared much. So long as there were two legs to step into, a zipper and a button I was happy. I would have probably been more bothered if I had an elder sister and was forced into hand-me-down dresses. How could you climb trees, ride your bike through the woods and make mud pies in a dress??? Apparently so I am told; as soon as I learnt to talk the first words that came out my mouth were NO! This was in reference to when mum was trying once again to put her little girl into something without legs and a zipper.
So if you hadn’t guessed already I was a bit of a tomboy. Dolls were something I did not wish to own, while the LEGO that my brother got for Christmas was something I WANTED and the subject of many a tantrum or two.
My friends were always decked out in the latest denim so when adolescence was finally upon me and I was able to start buying my own clothes my excitement was at fever pitch when I purchased that f
irst pair of jeans. Sadly I don’t have a picture at hand but I can describe them to you in full glorious detail.
We are in the 80’s; Miami Vice & Dynasty were TV staples moulding my young mind and I had a picture of Limahl (what happened to him?) of Never-ending story on my wall and a Spandau Ballet poster covered my math book – are you getting the picture? I had the legwarmers; I had the pixie boots, now I needed the denim. Think skinny drain pipe jeans with, wait for it, white stripes on dark denim! How cool was I? Looking like the cat that got the cream, with my boyish flattop haircut (believe it or not my mum was and still is a hair dresser) (sorry mum you are great, maybe I was just crap at sitting still), it is no wonder that I was always mistaken for a boy when buying my supply of sweeties at the corner stor
e.
I lost count of the amount of times I heard, “thank you young man/lad/sir” whilst handing over my 50pence pocket money for as many ½ penny cola bottles, aniseed balls and oooh, sherbet flying saucers – remember them?, that I could afford.
Did I ever correct the shopkeeper? Did I shout out “Oi! I’m a girl”, did I heck. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose in those days. I just took my sweeties and ran, (after paying of course, well most of the time after paying).
The thing is as the years wore on the picture never changed. I was hanging out with my very first, opps no, second boyfriend when we were both referred to as young lads! Can’t imagine how he felt about that – I believe he is still trying to get over it. Did I ever do anything to change this ongoing case of mistaken identity? Did I s
top wearing the biker jacket, green Doc Martins and Purple jeans? Did I start growing my hair, wearing dresses and experimenting with makeup? NO. Why should I? But on the other hand, I never defended myself over it too.
Mum and dad never seemed to mind about the way I dressed, I don’t think it bothered them. When I started playing A LOT of badminton from the age of 14 I guess they were happy just knowing where I was at night.
Not long ago, and I am talking about a matter of months, I was in a lift when someone once again called me a “young man”. Okay fair dues they actually asked me if I was a boy. These days though it comes as quite a shock to hear that. I know I still dress in my uniform of jeans or cargo pants with T’s but come on lah. The difference 20years down the road is I have grown up, I will say boo to the goose and I will not shy away of saying what I think. So all I will say is that person was reminded rather abruptly that this is A YOUNG LADY not a YOUNG MAN. I know I may not always act like a lady, but these days I am partial to wearing a wee bit of makeup, heels and a dress now and then so all in all I think I’m making pretty good progress.
You can’t alter your genetic makeup and should never be ashamed of not following the herd – how boring is that? Some people like sports and some people just will never understand WHY some people LOVE sports. And some people like me also love to wear jeans. WHY? Because I can.
So if you hadn’t guessed already I was a bit of a tomboy. Dolls were something I did not wish to own, while the LEGO that my brother got for Christmas was something I WANTED and the subject of many a tantrum or two.
My friends were always decked out in the latest denim so when adolescence was finally upon me and I was able to start buying my own clothes my excitement was at fever pitch when I purchased that f
irst pair of jeans. Sadly I don’t have a picture at hand but I can describe them to you in full glorious detail. We are in the 80’s; Miami Vice & Dynasty were TV staples moulding my young mind and I had a picture of Limahl (what happened to him?) of Never-ending story on my wall and a Spandau Ballet poster covered my math book – are you getting the picture? I had the legwarmers; I had the pixie boots, now I needed the denim. Think skinny drain pipe jeans with, wait for it, white stripes on dark denim! How cool was I? Looking like the cat that got the cream, with my boyish flattop haircut (believe it or not my mum was and still is a hair dresser) (sorry mum you are great, maybe I was just crap at sitting still), it is no wonder that I was always mistaken for a boy when buying my supply of sweeties at the corner stor
e.I lost count of the amount of times I heard, “thank you young man/lad/sir” whilst handing over my 50pence pocket money for as many ½ penny cola bottles, aniseed balls and oooh, sherbet flying saucers – remember them?, that I could afford.
Did I ever correct the shopkeeper? Did I shout out “Oi! I’m a girl”, did I heck. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose in those days. I just took my sweeties and ran, (after paying of course, well most of the time after paying).
The thing is as the years wore on the picture never changed. I was hanging out with my very first, opps no, second boyfriend when we were both referred to as young lads! Can’t imagine how he felt about that – I believe he is still trying to get over it. Did I ever do anything to change this ongoing case of mistaken identity? Did I s
top wearing the biker jacket, green Doc Martins and Purple jeans? Did I start growing my hair, wearing dresses and experimenting with makeup? NO. Why should I? But on the other hand, I never defended myself over it too.Mum and dad never seemed to mind about the way I dressed, I don’t think it bothered them. When I started playing A LOT of badminton from the age of 14 I guess they were happy just knowing where I was at night.
Not long ago, and I am talking about a matter of months, I was in a lift when someone once again called me a “young man”. Okay fair dues they actually asked me if I was a boy. These days though it comes as quite a shock to hear that. I know I still dress in my uniform of jeans or cargo pants with T’s but come on lah. The difference 20years down the road is I have grown up, I will say boo to the goose and I will not shy away of saying what I think. So all I will say is that person was reminded rather abruptly that this is A YOUNG LADY not a YOUNG MAN. I know I may not always act like a lady, but these days I am partial to wearing a wee bit of makeup, heels and a dress now and then so all in all I think I’m making pretty good progress.
You can’t alter your genetic makeup and should never be ashamed of not following the herd – how boring is that? Some people like sports and some people just will never understand WHY some people LOVE sports. And some people like me also love to wear jeans. WHY? Because I can.
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