Looking Back....In Horror. (It Does Get Better, Kids)

Everyone knows that you need to look at where you've been in order to figure out where you're going.

...or something like that anyways. I don't know. I'm not google. I don't have all the answers.

Since coming back to America in March, I've been trying to figure out my place in this world. I'm in DC again, I have a job, a whole new set of skills thanks to my MA that involve a whole lot of interpretive dance and a fondness for group massage. The world is my oyster. So of course I'm mildly panicked and haven't left the house. 

My mom passed me some old school pictures a few weeks ago and I'm hoping by analysing the person in each one will help me to figure out where I'm going.

Let's see shall we?

It all started with sweet innocence. She's just an adorable little elf. This picture says 'I like to giggle and play. Everything is sunshine-y! Let's be friends!'

Then we move on to loveliness and 'such a good little girl'. Look, she even likes to pretend she's a sailor! She is trustworthy and will make an excellent girl scout. She clearly likes cookies cause she is all sugar.

Okay, okay, so there's a little bit more rebellion here. Making her own fashion choices on her own. Oh yes, she went for the perm. And the headband almost as big as her head. Okay, cool, still adorbs, and clearly heading in the nerd direction (did you catch that bling? Straight out of a kickass book called The Silver Slippers, part of the Charm Book series.) Clearly a nerd who is desperate to be a ballerina. Oh honey....things are not looking good for you....

Then things take a turn for the worse. Little Lindsay learned what happens to a small town girl when she tries to go against the crowd, do her own thang, be an independent woman who can cut her own fringe.

Lesson learned: don't ever cut your own fringe. The hair dresser who tries to fix it will teach you a lesson.

NEVER CUT YOUR OWN HAIR.

Mullets happen. They happen to teach you a lesson.

Look how fluffy it is. The lesson I learned that day is that a bad haircut will change you. 

IT. WILL. CHANGE. YOU. 

It somehow manages to defy gravity. It also makes me appear to be slightly psychotic. I should have gotten therapy for this. And this outfit clearly says I also wanted to be accepted as a poet with deep, deep thoughts. Thoughts that run as deep as the forest on my head. No, there is no business in the front, party in the back. I have feelings we need to discuss. And only a black turtleneck will convey that.

After that bad haircut I refused to cut my hair. I started to go far, far away from trying to be an independent woman and delved straight into 'No, no, no. I am a LITTLE PRINCESS. Not a 7 year old wanna-be trucker, no matter what my mullet suggests.' So my opposition to the haircut landed me straight into the Land of Wanna-Be Sister Wives. This photo looks like I've been groomed for the life of being a little lady that stays at home for her husband she shares with 9 other little ladies, and I get to make all my own clothing, lucky girl. 

DAMNIT WOMAN, is that a SCRUNCHIE?!

And now we move on to the period of my life where I am clearly making quieter statements with my look. This one whispers gently that I'm on the path to being a middle-management IT professional/serial killer. Also, maybe I like cats more than people. Also, cheese. I may talk to walls. Maybe cause that's where I hide the bodies.

Finally, the school pictures stop after this last one. This last one was just after my mom made me do my laundry for myself and I accidentally got bleach in with all my black goth clothes. So I know for a fact I'm only wearing white because I clearly need supervision at all times. And that choker says I'm a badass but also still can't let go of wanting to be a princess cause it's made of LACE. LIKE A GODDAMN LADY. Who listens to a whole lot of Korn, Disturbed, Cold and Fiona Apple. Because, clearly, those all go hand in hand. I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS.

And here I am today. Repatriating back to America. (Well this was last year, so still in London with a few more months before the dreaded repatriating and still relatively happy/possibly drunk.) I managed to turn out okay so who knows what the future may hold?

Looks like this was taken in the British Library where I was researching my dissertation on women and nudity in comedy. Who wouldn't be happy with a topic like that?

If you have some awesome school pictures of your past self, please, do share. Let's all learn together.

NEVER CUT YOUR OWN HAIR.

xxLindsay