Back in the early 1970’s, a new high cut boot style was all the rage. Cossack boots. They slouched at the ankles and sat on flat, medium or high heels. To heck with the heel height, it was all about the slouchy leather ankles. At first, I thought they were the most horrendous insult to good taste. The girls and I would giggle, point and pinky-swear that we’d never fall victim to this fashion trend. So we held steadfast to our hippie look, happily hauling ourselves around in treks and clogs instead. But by season 3 we had to admit the Cossack look was catchy, still hugging the legs of almost everyone we knew, this was no fad quietly fading into the past. Caving in, I tried on my first pair, and was hooked. A few months post-purchase, they disappeared from shoe shelves across Montreal.
That’s the problem with reluctant fashionistas; wait too long and the new look is old.
When it came to the wide leg Howick jeans however, I was no slouch. I was right in there with half a dozen pair before my classmates made the switch from classic Levi’s to the way too wide fashion jean. Wish I had a picture of me in my Howick’s… I thought I was the epitome of fashion forward and set a trend the streets of Montreal could have lived without.
Hot pants. Blue eye shadow. Stop sign glasses. Espadrilles. When you’re young and impressionable and need to fit in, you’re forever ready to incorporate le look de jour and wear whatever Seventeen magazine splashes across their pages. Losing sight of my own personal leanings toward hippie chic, earthy cool I developed quite the flair for fashion victim, falling prey to the pressure to fit in.
Fast forward to now and I relive the horrors of style traps as my 11 year old daughter is in the experimental phase of developing her own look. I see she likes shine and bling. I see she likes edgy and bright. I see she likes heels and make-up. I hear she wants Uggs. I don’t think she likes Uggs. The “I want” always come after the “but everyone’s wearing them” so I’m led to believe Uggs have become another criteria to be allowed entry into the club where fitting in is all about what you have and not who you are: Uggs-check. Blackberry-check. Mac-check. True Religion jeans-check.
Is it just me or is there something wrong with this picture? Is it a generational rite of passage to gain self-identity by first identifying as a group? When I look at my daughter and her friends what I see is half a dozen prepubescent girls trying so hard to look like each other, valuing what they see in their friends and not in themselves. There’s Noa with her shade of red-auburn hair that is standout stunning and of course she hates it; it’s different. And there’s Megan with her quick rise to height, shoulders above the girls, posturing herself down to meet the others. And then there’s Jessica, who is in a losing battle between her thick curls and her flat iron.
As I sit in the room with them and listen to their conversation I want to chime in but don’t. How can I tell these girls that it’s their very individuality that makes them so incredible? That acceptance must first come from within. They need to try on all the different looks before they find the one that fits. I just HAD to walk in those Cossack boots and my daughter might just have to have to shrug on her Uggs to get one step closer to her authentic style.