H&S Archive: I’m still just a teenage dirtbag, baby
A love letter to the teenage obsessions I've stuck with long after high school
This VoiceOver was recorded unedited in my home so there may be a couple of throat clearings and word jumbles along the way, possibly a dog or a cat in the background. Whether it’s something you need or prefer, I hope you enjoy it regardless.
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This post was first published on 7th May 2023.
Hello lovely
A couple of weeks ago my fiancé surprised me with a Nintendo Switch for my birthday. I haven’t had a games console since I shared a Sega Mega Drive with my brother as a teenager and I’m unreasonably excited to have one now. Our favourite game as kids was Toe Jam and Earl: Panic on Funkatron. The challenges often involved dancing to funk music but the main premise was to capture invading tourists by trapping them in jars. Bonkers, right? We loved it. I couldn’t believe it when I found out I could download a new version to play straight away: immediate purchase. I also found - wait for it - a new version of Monkey Island which is arguably the greatest PC game of all time.
If you’ve played either of those games you should know that we’re now best friends. If, on the other hand, you have absolutely no idea what I’m on about please don’t leave. Just think back to the last time you felt a wave of childlike joy when you opened a gift. Remember? It’s a level of excitement that can only be expressed with involuntary squeaks. It causes you to stare around the room at everyone because you can’t believe it’s really yours. That’s what I’m talking about here: experiencing a surge of adolescent joy in our adult lives.
I was a teenager at a time when the jeans were wide and the eyebrows were thin. We shared mix tapes, disposable cameras, and friendship necklaces. We drank cheap cider in the park and argued with our Mums when we were told to wear a jacket. Our music was loud pop-punk, we wore battered Converse, and wrote angsty poetry in our bedrooms. It felt long but it was fleeting. It was painful and beautiful and vulnerable and weird. I would absolutely not want to do it again. But the joy we found among the pain of self-discovery and heartache? That joy was extra sweet.
At a time in our lives when so much can feel dark and out of control the things that hold us together through it all shouldn’t be dismissed as “just for kids”. They’re the glue holding us together, helping us to survive through social awkwardness and questionable choices - both sartorial and romantic. (Don’t worry, I’m cringing right along with you). The things we loved then - the music, the clothes, the pastimes - are still part of who we are now and we shouldn’t have to pretend we’ve outgrown them.
Part of the allure of “growing up” is that we think we’ll find life easier after that awkward stage. We dream of shedding our embarrassing teenage layers and emerging as sophisticated people who move through the world with an effortless elegance seen only in perfume adverts. Do you remember that girl at your high school who always had shiny hair and smelled like an expensive holiday? I wasn’t that girl. I’m not her now. Do you remember that weird arty vegetarian girl in a Moomins t-shirt with pink hair, listening to angry music in her headphones? I was that girl. I’m still her now.
When I became a teacher I resisted the traditional image and was compelled to get another, bigger tattoo on my arm and reach again for the pink hair dye. I’ve done the job for over fifteen years now and I still need those quiet rebellions: my band tee with a blazer; my Converse with the smart trousers; my car pulsing with Green Day as I pull into the car park. These moments aren’t just for me they’re for the teenagers in my classes. They’re for the outsider kids wondering how much of themselves they’ll have to give up when they enter the world of work or how they’ll get a job if they don’t become more conventional. Mostly, though, it’s for me - teenage me - to let her know that she was right about so many things, probably more often than she was wrong.
The world can still feel just as cold and hard now as it did when we were heartbroken over some teenage muppet even though we’re meant to be so much wiser and more resilient to it all these days. Now, more than ever, we need those moments of extra sweet joy. This week, among other adult-y things, I’ve gone to work, taken my car to the garage, and phoned a plumber. I’ve also re-watched all the Star Wars movies (the original three are still the best, obviously), worn several t-shirts emblazoned with cartoons, and played video games. And in doing all of that I feel just a little more me and a little less them, y’know? On the way to work tomorrow, I’ll play Green Day really loud. A little joy.
After all, just because we’re older doesn’t mean we’re too old for any of these things. That’s the key: you’re only too old if you decide you are. And who wants to decide that?
Maybe it’s time to get that pink hair dye out again.
I’d love to hear your thoughts along with the teenage obsessions you’ve stuck with through it all. I’ll meet you in the comments! 👋🏻
Take good care
In High School (Circa 1965) I was obsessed with 3 girls on the cheerleading squad. I was shy and nerdy, they were all goddesses to me. Now, some 55 years later, I have come to know all three. They know about my high school obsession. One looked me up in the high school yearbook and told me "you were cute. If you had asked me out in high school, I would have said yes." Very cool for my reptilian brain.
Thanks for the blast from the past. My graduation year was 1984. I still listen to rem, the Beatles, and King Crimson, still play guitar, and have some friends remaining from that time.