When once upon a time I was in high school life was simple. I was the Girls President for the student body, which was really important and I did important things and other things that were important to me. One important thing I had to do was sponsor Girl's Week which we renamed Women's Week because at that point in my life that was taking a hard stance against something important.
The juxtaposition here is that while I thought I was going femme fatal by feminizing Girl's Week with the respect-demanding name change, I also had to go about the school get nominations for Boys Preference votes. This included such inane categories as Best Body and Most Spirit. The crowning jewel title was, of course, Most Preferred, which means that out of all the girls (women) in my inner city high school you were the best choice. I guess.
My family had a long standing tradition of being Most Preferred. But Page told me that the night she was awarded the title she felt her popularity slip out of her hands. Because once you are crowned Most Preferred, suddenly you are last night's news. So I didn't really wish for that title at all. Instead I wanted--BEST DRESSED.
After the nominations were counted I found myself on the ballot for two categories. Best Personality (boring) and--BEST DRESSED. Now, I could sit here and type through lies that I didn't care because I was too cool for high school or that it doesn't matter now because I've forgotten it, but time has taught me that no one forgets high school. Even those who say they have--especially--those who say they have. High school is life, humans, it will always be embedded on your brain. For this reason, I am always feeling ashamed for how much I flirted with my student-teachers. My face is currently blushing.
Best Dressed was more than Most Intellectual which I had no chance at anyway. It was the only real sophisticated category, it was smart, chic and vogue. To me it was more than Best Looking because your face was long decided before you left the womb. It was just dumb luck. Best Dressed however, was reward for hard work. Hard work reading Seventeen. Which I did monthly.
And I wrote the inner city high school fashion column. I gave people free advice about what to wear. This was before the tv show, too. I was an only hope for so many. So many in my inner city high school needed me. I designed my own prom dresses. The very least they could do was bestow upon me--BEST DRESSED.
The results were to be announced at the Boys Preference dance. Luckily, I was asked to go with a funny young man who also dressed a bit trendy. I endured a week of chipper boys telling me they voted for my personality. I smiled, because that is what women with lovely personalities do (on the outside) but (on the inside) I thought, You wasted my Best Dressed vote? What has puberty done to your brain man?
When the night finally arrived, I dressed up in my best. I didn't want to receive the award only to have the boys regret their decision. Then my date called to say he had diarrhea. And, he actually told me that he had diarrhea, which endeared me to him a little. But, there would be no date, and my nominated personality wasn't cool enough to go alone.
Late that night, after an evening of stewing in my bedroom, I got a call from a friend with the results. The Girls President (Women's President) won nothing. Not Best Personality, not--BEST DRESSED. My inner city school didn't care.
Now, lest you are crying with me at this moment (because you remember the treacheries of high school) I want you to know that I have since learned two important lessons about this page of my personal history:
One, why would I expect a gaggle of inner city school boys to appreciate avant garde fashion? Not getting the award was the real award. You see what I am saying?
Two, as cliche as it sounds, it really is an honor just to be nominated.
A couple days ago, a very kind reader sent me a heads up on being nominated for the Blogger Choice Awards. My category is BEST BLOG ABOUT STUFF. If my stuff is what you'd like to vote for you can do it here.
As a way of warning, you will have to login to vote. So if you are lazy like me, I want you to know that I take the counts that thought. I mean, the thoughts that count. But, do I really think thoughts count? I will have to ponder that today.
A new button on my sidebar reads: I've been nominated. Should I lose this one at least we all know that I am, at most--BEST DRESSED BLOGGER.