The Pretty Girls Club

1st May 2008

posted in Personal |

Second-grade was my year. It was the year before I became fat, before I even developed a self-consciousness of fat. My mom was the cool room mother all the other kids wished they had. I had a crush on Robby Campbell with his flame-red hair, and I think he liked me, too. I was part of the second-grade in crowd – the club of pretty girls who played Kiss and Catch with the club of pretty boys on the playground at recess and braided each other’s hair during class movie time. I sat next to Jenny, the club’s unofficial head pretty girl, on the bus.

I was accepted; I was one of the pretty girls.

Then I became friends with Shannon Carpenter. Shannon was homely and had a bad complexion. Her naturally curly hair cut by her mom in odd angles refused to braid. I was not consciously aware at the time that Shannon was also fat, but others were and they let her know it. Shannon came from a single-parent family who was poor and she often wore ill-fitting and old clothes. She did not care about hair and boys and those other things the pretty girls cared about. She was different.

Shannon was not one of us; she was not one of the pretty girls.

Shannon’s mom and my mom ran squad together so it was only natural we would be thrust together. But I also liked Shannon. We both liked to draw and we both collected My Little Pony and Cabbage Patch dolls. We both devoured books and even in second-grade, Shannon had a wicked sense of humor. I started reading with Shannon underneath the log fortress on the playground. We soon sat next to each other at lunch and played together after school. My friendship with Shannon had its price.

I was unofficially kicked out of the pretty girls club.

Our family’s move mid-year to a neighboring community meant a change in schools. Sometime after the move, I began gaining weight and no longer qualified as a pretty girl. I first became aware I was noticeably larger than the other kids in the third-grade. The taunts and ridicule soon followed and would continue to follow until graduation nine years later. The pretty girls club soon became a dim memory of what if, a fantasy of a life that could have been. Today, it seems as if, both before and after, I have been moving away from and back towards this fantasy.

There is safety in being a pretty girl; you are not alone.

I maintained my friendship with Shannon even after rejoining the club and even the move. We remained friends through the sixth-grade, until Shannon’s mom was killed in a car accident and she and her brother were sent to live with their grandma. In the prehistoric era before email and the internet and even computers, geography marked the death knell of our friendship. The road on which Shannon’s mother was killed is now a main thoroughfare in one of the communities I cover. Sometimes I drive over the spot in which Sandy died and I wonder about Shannon and how her life turned out. Is she the same old Shannon who liked to read and draw and was smart and funny?

Or did she become just another pretty girl?

Even now, 20 years later, I distinctly remember asking Jenny if I could be accepted back into the club my last week at the school before the move. They agreed. I was a pretty girl again. But strangely, being a pretty girl wasn’t as much fun as it was before. None of the other pretty girls liked to read. None of them liked to draw or paint. If you didn’t like to play Kiss and Catch at recess, tough. This is the game the pretty girls played and so, you too played it if you wanted to be a member of the pretty girls club.

I couldn’t be myself; I had to be a pretty girl.

I’ve been the only one for most of my life – the only girl/woman, the only fat one, the only liberal, the only feminist, the only one with an eating disorder, the only, the only, the only… It is an unsettling and scary place to be at times, this precarious and strange state of onliness. You stand alone at the precipice, with no one to cling to should you lose your footing, and yet everyone to watch to see if you will fall. There is security in being a pretty girl; there is safety and solace in a group of people with many bodies but one head. But it is also a false comfort, one which exacts a superfluous ounce of identity.

I am not a pretty girl; I will never be a pretty girl. I am different; I am myself. It is all there is and it is enough.

Click to Bookmark

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 1st, 2008 at 11:20 am and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

1 On May 1st, 2008, Aurora

said:

Thank you for these wise words.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 12:28 pm

2 On May 1st, 2008, ladyjaye

Did you ever try tracing her back? Maybe she’s on facebook or in some online community where, after some digging, she’d be there. Or, in case she married and changed last names, you could try retracing her brother.

Doesn’t mean that the friendship could rekindle (I’ve recontacted some of my childhood and teenage friends through facebook, and the rekindled friendships weren’t with my then-best friends, with whom it’s neutral, but nothing more).

It’s easy to deny who we are in order to fit in, even to show bouts of cruelty towards others that we wouldn’t if it were a one-on-one encounter. I’ve seen that happen — former high school bullies who apologized to me as adults and who are actually rather friendly, when you get down to it.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 12:53 pm

3 On May 1st, 2008, kate217

You’re better than a pretty girl. You’re gorgeous inside and out.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 1:40 pm

4 On May 1st, 2008, Tari

My sister (a pretty girl, of course) and I have argued many times about being the only one - only we call it “that guy.” She has asked me so many times why I have to be “that guy - the one who can’t be like anyone else, the one who does the opposite of whatever everyone else is doing.” So, yeah, I’m That Guy. I’d totally rather be That Guy than wear a mask the color of average.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 1:50 pm

5 On May 1st, 2008, Bekbek

When I was a kid I was sort of a mascot of the pretty girls for a while, then I made friends with my neighbor. She was a lot like you describe your friend Shannon, from a poor family, oddly cut curly hair, and old odd clothes. Being friends with her washed me right out of any acceptance by the pretty girls, but I couldn’t see not being friends with someone for popularity’s sake, and I always felt more myself with her.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 1:51 pm

6 On May 1st, 2008, MrsDrC

This post really hit home.

I think you may have confused “the only” with trailblazer. Trailblazers are few and far between it often seems. Without them we’d all be lost. ;o)

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 2:22 pm

7 On May 1st, 2008, Charlotte

Very well written. I love this.
I was never a part of the Pretty Girls Club. Looking back, I’m really glad I wasn’t. They were pretty one dimensional and boring.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 2:23 pm

8 On May 1st, 2008, Electric Maenad

The nice thing about the internet is that now we know we *aren’t* the only ones. We are the vanguard. And we can tell our daughters and sons who might not fit in, who might not be attractive or who have odd interests that *this will pass* and there is always someone out there in whom intellectual or spiritual kinship can be found.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 2:33 pm

9 On May 1st, 2008, Andie

I agree, this was extremely well written. And I can totally relate to it. I’m not a pretty girl and will never be a pretty girl. I live my life just trying to be me.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 2:56 pm

10 On May 1st, 2008, Cyn

I wanted to fit in the Pretty Girls Club, but I was fat and “ugly” and too into books and nerdy things. Now, looking back, I’ve realised the Pretty Girls Club was boring and I would have never fitted there, I would have never felt like myself there (even if I never felt like myself in elementary and secondary school). I was still invited to our generation’s Facebook group tho. There I saw many of their profiles and they are exactly the same, 7 years after our graduation. They haven’t changed, they still look the same, they still care about the same things, date the same ugly macho boys, listen to the same music. To them it’s still 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001 pre-9/11. It’s like nothing happened to them, nothing changed. I’m the one who all of a sudden turned into a swan princess and does things in the arts network and (OMGWTF) is loved by a man who “lets me” wear a dress (not that I have to ask for his permission).
Maybe being the underdog during the first years of your life is a kind of vaccination. It keeps you away from having a bland life, from being a zero-to-the-left. Even the celebrities Pretty Girls want to look like say on the interviews that they were shun and/or bullied during their formative years. And that sort of let them be with themselves and work on the things they could do, their talents. Things no Pretty Girl could bother learning to do or exploring in themselves because they were too busy shopping and braiding hair and kicking people out of their clubs.
Back in the days, if you weren’t a Pretty Girl, you were no one. Now, if you were a Pretty Girl, you are no one.

And you are right. You are not a pretty girl. You will never be a pretty girl. You are different. You are yourself. And yourself is beautiful. Being yourself is beautiful.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 2:58 pm

11 On May 1st, 2008, Rachel

There I saw many of their profiles and they are exactly the same, 7 years after our graduation.

My 10 year high school graduation was last November. I debated on going, mostly because high school wasn’t exactly a happy time for me. I tried running for a class officer position my freshman year and realized it was all a popularity contest. Our student council were the same popular kids who bragged on Mondays about how drunk they got the weekend before. A few of the girls would be so drunk they didn’t know who they did or did not have sex with

The person responsible for organizing our reunion was AWOL. A few others organized one… at a local bar popular amongst the 18 - 24 crowd. The venue alone helped me make up my mind not to go.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 3:06 pm

12 On May 1st, 2008, susan

My 10-year-old is a “pretty girl” right now, though I fear for her next year when she enters middle school. She commented to me earlier this year, “Mom, I like my friends and everything but sometimes I just wish I had a friend I could talk to about books and reading and stuff.”

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 3:32 pm

13 On May 1st, 2008, AquaMarine

Wow, this brought me back to high school where, in Junior year, a new girl came to our school. Sharon and I got along great, she was quirky, funny and we talked about all sorts of things; pretty much non-stop. Too bad I was the Shannon in this story. Sharon got an invitation to the Pretty Girls Club and she took it. I didn’t hold it against her as I knew most girls would have taken this as an invitation not to be refused. But she could no longer associate with anyone from a non-Pretty Girl group. I really missed her company. As for me, I never much cared for popularity I’m happy to say. I enjoy being different and an “only” too. And I had quite a few good friends from the non-Pretty Girls. But after reading your post, it made me think if Sharon ever thought about me and felt a little sad missing our crazy conversations……….. Nah, probably not.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 7:39 pm

14 On May 1st, 2008, Working Rachel

Beautiful post.

posted on May 1st, 2008 at 8:22 pm

15 On May 2nd, 2008, DiosaNegra1967

I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain’t no damsel in distess
and I don’t need to be rescued
so put me down punk
maybe you’d prefer a maiden fair
isn’t there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere

I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I’ve got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you’re a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they’d prefer you
were dirty and smiling

and I am sorry
I am not a maiden fair
and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere

and generally my generation
wouldn’t be caught dead working for the man
and generally I agree with them
trouble is you gotta have youself an alternate plan
and I have earned my disillusionment
I have been working all of my life
and I am a patriot
I have been fighting the good fight
and what if there are no damsels in distress
what if I knew that and I called your bluff?
don’t you think every kitten figures out how to get down
whether or not you ever show up

I am not a pretty girl
I don’t want to be a pretty girl
no I want to be more than a pretty girl

Thank you Ani DiFranco!

posted on May 2nd, 2008 at 10:06 am

16 On May 2nd, 2008, DiosaNegra1967

Rachel: Maybe Shannon is somewhere thinking of you as well…you never know.

posted on May 2nd, 2008 at 10:07 am

17 On May 2nd, 2008, Fauve

I was normal-weight - even slender, as a child. I was pretty. But, I was still weird, different, odd and shy and didn’t fit in, so no “clubs” of any sort wanted me. I didn’t become fat until my mid-thirties. I shudder to think of how much more difficult my already difficult, lonely life as a child would have been, had I a weight problem at the time (or even perceived to have such a problem). Kids are really cruel. Of course, adults are like kids these days when it comes to weight. They are more refined about it (usually), but the message for the fat woman is: you don’t really belong (with us, or anywhere). I admire fat women and men who fight this, but I guess I am just too used to being the “odd one out” to fight too much. We’ve equated looks and weight with moral superiority and have done so for centuries. What else is new? And also: I hate that kids have to suffer, especially.

posted on May 2nd, 2008 at 12:37 pm

18 On May 4th, 2008, shutup

pretty girls only become monstrosities when you let them reflect the beast of fear and insecurity within yourself. IE: When you ask Jenny to join her “club” she can see you are blatantly asking to be her friend because she’s pretty and you see no other value in her. THAT PROBABLY FELT LIKE CRAP FOR HER…she should write a blog. This made you feel bad about yourself so you took your shallowness out on Jenny, the creator of this club within your head.

posted on May 4th, 2008 at 3:08 am

19 On May 4th, 2008, Rachel