Since I don’t have my car at college, I don’t get off campus that much, and sometimes I forget that there are people in the world who are between the ages of 17 and 23. Every so often I just need to get out and get back to reality, and I decided that this past Friday was the perfect time to do that. After merely an hour of waiting at the bus stop, I was on a jam-packed bus headed towards the Hampshire Mall. I actually managed to get a seat, and despite the man-standing-in-the-aisle’s butt on my shoulder for the majority of the ride, it was fairly quick and painless. I’m pretty sure every high school and middle school student from the surrounding area had shown up for a night of fun. Combined with a good amount of five-college students and a few adults, the place was hopping.
Friday was a particularly nice day, with temperatures in the high 50s, and after the long winter we’ve had, everyone was savoring it. To understand my commentary on this you have to realize that until the middle of 7th grade, I never wore jeans. Ever. I refused. I only wore cotton and spandex leggings. I refused to wear skirts or dresses at all costs, or anything that showed any amount of skin. Although I’ve since adopted jeans as the main staple of my wardrobe, and I wear skirts occasionally, not much else has changed. I’m a huge fan of sweatshirts and have a jacket for every season plus some. In short, I often end up looking like I’m about 16 years old. I’ve had fourth graders ask if I was 12 and seniors ask if I was a freshman.
However, I don’t think it’s simply my choice of clothing that makes me look young, I think it’s also what those younger than me are wearing in comparison. A girl and her friends walk past me. She’s got long blonde hair, obviously straightened with a straightening iron, light brown suede knee-high boots, a skirt that in no way abides by the finger-tip rule (part of our dress code from high school: if you put your hands at your sides and your finger-tips went past the hem of the skirt, the skirt was too short), and a low-cut white top through which her bra was visible. Now if someone gave me that outfit description I’d say the wearer was probably 18-25. The girl looked like she was probably 13, maybe younger.
But it’s not just her! Her friends were wearing outfits with a similar lack of material. I suppose it’s sort of hard to blame them, because lots of stores intended for adults, or at least older teens, have created chains for kids, i.e. Abercrombie, Limited Too, Rave Girl, etc. Not to mention that the girls they see in the media and idolize aren’t often wearing jeans and sweatshirts. Despite all this, I’ve got to wonder about these kid’s parents. I mean, each of them must have at least one parent, and I know my parents would have laughed the whole way home from the mall if I’d asked for knee-high suede boots at 13. I fully intend on laughing at my daughter if she asks for them at 13 as well.
If you’re wearing knee-high suede boots at 13, what’s the next step for turning 16? 18? Wearing nothing but thigh-high boots and underwear to the mall? I got my first pair of knee-high boots last year. I was 19. I felt special and grown-up every time I wore them; that feeling died when I saw a 12 year old with the same boots. I mean, okay, so I’m a dork, but if you do everything in your early teens, what more is there to look forward to? I’m 20 now and I still don’t feel like a grown-up. I don’t particularly want to. I think the thing that bothers me the most about the whole situation is really that childhood is a time I find extremely valuable, and these kids seem to be leaving it much sooner than they have to, voluntarily. I don’t think they realize yet that it doesn’t come back.
I don’t look old, but sometimes I feel old. I know I’m not, but I still miss being a kid. I miss naptime, recess and tea parties. Those should be what childhood memories are composed of, not knee-high boots. There’s plenty of time for wearing boots in college and as adults, but the time for kickball and Play Dough is far too fleeting to waste. Get out of those boots, put on your sneakers, and run around in the dirt. Jump in puddles. Swing from tree branches. Enjoy it while it lasts. You’ll try to get it back when you’re older, and it’ll never be quite the same.
Stacy Kasdin is a Collegian columnist.
