The Simpson's shirt.

     Few moments illustrate the tone of my Jr. high years quite like the Simpson’s T-shirt incident. My dad bought it for me from Spencer’s in an uncharacteristic apologetic moment for one of his drunken episodes. The show had just started that year, 1990, and it was pretty risque for us 12 year olds. EVERYONE loved it. And I had yet to see anyone at school with Simpson’s merch yet, so I was sure I would finally be the trendsetter I was meant to be.

     

    So far in 7th grade, I was pretty invisible. Most of my friends from elementary school had changed and we could no longer relate to each other, or they found new friends that better matched the personas they were trying to achieve. The few friends I had left were players in a never ending game of 3 way calls and shit talk that none of us really wanted to participate in, but the act felt like survival. There was no way out, and being at the bottom of the social totem pole was like death. It was kill or be killed, even with your best friends. Suddenly, money came into play, and it mattered what side of town you lived in and which elementary school you came from. Mine wasn’t the poorest, and it wasn’t the one with the tough kids, it was just….not cool. My family had just gone through a bankruptcy and narrowly avoided losing our home, so competing with the other girls in fashion was just not on the table for me. So this Simpson’s T-shirt... it was going to change my life. The popular girls would notice me, and I could finally make a name for myself at this school. After all, back in 6th grade I was the shit! I was the queen bitch at my elementary school. These girls over at El Roble just didn’t know.

      I got ready that morning and picked my favorite stone washed jeans with the holes, tucked in my Simpson’s shirt with a little bit pulled out so it created a bubble around my waist, and rolled up the sleeves. I curled my long, Sun-In blonde hair at the ends, made a decent looking flower shape with my bangs, and walked to school. Pretty In Pink played in my head as I walked down the hall to my first class, because that’s what this moment was going to be like for me. I was Molly Ringwald, and this was my prom moment where the cute boy runs to me and the bitchy girls turn their bitch ass faces away in disbelief and jealousy. 

     My friends saw me first, and gushed over my awesome shirt. I turned my body toward the hall as we talked, making sure that everyone saw it. And they did! I got so many compliments! The bell rang and I started running towards class, and one of the most popular girls in school stopped me to tell me she loved my shirt and asked where I got it! After she walked away, I pretty much floated to class. The whole rest of the day was a beautiful blur of being noticed and getting kudos from kids in every clique, including 8th graders! I felt like I finally made it, and Jr. high was finally going to be fun rather than the terrifying wreck it currently was. When I got home that night I just didn’t want that feeling to end. I had to stay visible. I had to be cool. I started trying to come up with a plan. “Maybe not everyone saw me...Stephanie wasn’t in P.E. today”, I thought. There were a few critical 8th grade socialites that must have missed my debut. I needed them to see me. So, I decided TO WEAR THE SIMPSON’S SHIRT AGAIN. No, really. I fucking really did that shit.

     

     My appearance the next day at school in my Simpson’s shirt went okay. I got some more compliments, but also a few side eye looks. Some snickers. But mostly compliments. So what did I do the next day? I wore the damn shirt again, folks. Day three of the Simpson’s incident was Thursday. This time, all I got was harassment. Accusations of wearing dirty clothes, of being too poor to afford a new shirt, lots of creative name calling, and even a few smacks to the back of my head and kids running off with my bookbag so I had to chase them. My own friends were not talking to me anymore, probably because being seen with me was social suicide at that point. I realized I had made a terrible mistake. I felt stupid and worthless. I succeeded at making sure everyone knew me, but now that they did, all I wanted was to disappear. I had put myself on the radar and after that, there was no taking the target off my back. The following Friday I tried to hide as much as possible. I tried to act like nothing ever happened and everyone was being stupid when they tried to fuck with me. But that Tshirt decision set the tone for the rest of the year, and i was never able to come back from it. Simpson’s merch started to make it’s way into the school, and kids would ask me ‘Hey I bet you like my shirt, huh?” and laugh their asses off.

      As the year went on, I got angrier and more suspicious. I felt like everyone including my friends were out to get me. And honestly, they were. "Girl World" as they termed it in Mean Girls, was absolutely brutal. We were all acting like animals just trying to survive, not at all understanding that we were all going through the same shit. All of us were hurting, and we were all hurting each other. I did some things in the name of social survival that I am still ashamed of. I hope those girls aren't as traumatized by my actions as I am by my own self.