A fashionable stereotype - Gemma Hansell (From Your Local Guardian)

A fashionable stereotype - Gemma Hansell

10:32am Monday 20th August 2007 in News

Its 10am on a brisk Saturday morning, the sun is shining and the prospect of meeting up with my friends brings a wide grin to my face. But what to wear? I bung on a pair of skinny jeans, rummage through a pile on the floor and find a half decent excuse for a tee shirt, spray a little deodorant all over, choke and throw it on. Then the dilemma. A glance down to the floor confirms my thoughts and the whole outfit is ripped off and thrown against the wall.

Out of the corner of my eye, a newspaper splayed across my floor with the headline reading "Teen Obsession with Skinny". Another useless article written by a self proclaimed overweight middle aged woman who hates her own physicality's and takes tremendous joy in telling others how to look, whilst munching on her less than 90% fat crisps. Weight Watchers ring any bells love? Great. Another desperate attempt.

10:30. Rats. I should have left 5 minutes ago. Quick thinking. "Ring ringring ring.Hey is Cat there?....umm yeah Im gonna be running a little late, parents making me do something, wont be long!..Okay bye" Okay so I lied, if I want to look good, it takes time. So back to square one. Right, the grey tracksuit bottoms, there should be a white Nike vest around here somewhere. Out come the gel and the comb to back brush my lifeless and flat hair into a big wild and untamed bush. Classy. A thick dollop of product lands on my head and trickles down my face; a sudden memory of last weeks events'. Thrown out of the Glades for looking, what was it - offensively yobbish and intimidating'. I particularly recall a rather hot and bothered police officer in training resembling the very same look I was staring at right now; although whether his excess liquid was gel, we shall never know. For my part, Im inclined to believe it was good old Mr Perspiration paying a visit. Poor sod. Again, outfit comes off and the frantic search continues. I begin to despair at the thought of getting dressed at all. Au natural anyone?

It seems almost impossible to pick an outfit that won't offend someone, that won't give someone the wrong impression and yet they're just clothes. Like many teenagers, clothes and fashion are important to me. I might not buy the fanciest and most ludicrously expensive clothes but the desire to look good and feel good is ever present in spite of this. Caged in incessant stereotypes, teenagers continually face the suspecting eyes of the general public. Is this right? Don't get me wrong, defending Britain's youth is not the purpose of this article, only to open a few eyes and suggest a more relaxed and just approach.

Us teens have not given ourselves the best of reputations and in coming years have failed to grasp the concepts of responsibility and maturity but for us all to be squandered with this merciless downtrodden attitude is just plain unfair. The way I dress, the way I talk, the friends I choose; every last detail of my teenage life under speculation at the prospect I might have a sudden urge to mug an old lady carrying her £1.38 shopping home from the local Tesco. Give me a break. The indescribable pressure of knowing that you're being watched and the constant paranoia, that has long since become your best friend, are a most unwelcome addition to the already soul destroying part of youth; being a teenager.

What would it take for my friends and I to step out in public without being terrorised by the accusing eyes and the security squinters? Maybe I should go out with my parents more often and have them to blame for my unsightly behaviour'. Explain to me what is unsightly about queuing quietly in Superdrug clutching some zit cream and sanitary towels; the sheer embarrassment of a task such as this already to be had by any pubescent teen. It seems that wherever I go I am to be plagued with unjust comments about my physical appearance, lectures from middle aged people whose purpose in life is to live alone and watch the corrie omnibus with their mums, the vile glances cast my way and the tightened grip displayed under my nose to hold onto their precious belongings. A free country? I think not.

You know what, I think I'll stay in.