There comes a time in our lives when we must all make peace with our teenage self. Sure, that blue eyeshadow was a hideous error and your first boyfriend was a complete trashy fuckwit, but deep down we all know it’s these mistakes that have brought us to our (slightly) more balanced early/mid/late twenties. Continue reading “coming to terms with your teenage crimes against fashion”
It’s Thursday, and like many slaves to the gram, I just uploaded a picture of me as a baba to Instagram, slapped an ‘earlybird’ filter on it, and shared it with the world with a #tbt hashtag. Isn’t it fucking cute (I look like an egg).
Throwbacks are very much en vogue; ever since it became oh so easy to share your every whimsical thought with the world on social media, and even categorise that shit with a hashtag (which by the way I never thought would catch on), people everywhere have been sharing their nostalgia for their past selves (but only on a #throwbackthursday, or the occasional #flashbackfriday if they miss the boat). Continue reading “#throwbackthursday: what’s wrong with the here and now?”
It’s been said before, and there’s no doubt in my little mind that before the decade is out a lot of us will have said it to our own kids: school days really are the best times of our lives:
While yes, puberty is an awful mistress, and it’s truly not easy growing up, the amount of fun to be had during our early teenage years far outways the negatives (I would hope). Thinking back to my school days, I can’t believe just how much time has sped up since I was roaming the playground and scranning down in the canteens; it’s mental. Continue reading “15 reasons that your school days were the best days of your life”
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, it really is. If I could give 15 year-old me a quick call or a WhatsApp just to tell her to step away from the cake and avoid that English Literature degree then I would, but 15 year-old me would probably just tell me to fucking do one.
Each and every year of school, like many others before me, I’d convince myself that I was wicked cool. I’d untuck my school shirt, wear offensive pink eyeshadow and hang out on the basketball courts eating the aforementioned cake with a kind of self-assurance you grow out of towards the end of your teens. In actual fact, I was part of a crew of girls who were quite cool, and as the fat funny one of the group I’d hope I wasn’t quite as hated by everyone as the popular girls tend to be, but I probably was. We were probably only popular amongst ourselves. Continue reading “stay in school kids”