Looking Back

Unpacking my dad into his new house, I came across photos of myself at 16/17, encouraged to go to my school formal by my grandmother, who like the glamorous and extravagant lady that she was, took upon herself the mantle of fairy godmother, bought me a fancy dress that made me feel lumpen and extremely unglamorous and talked me into this thing that I really didn't want to do. She said I'd miss not going. So we did the whole thing. I dressed up in this extra fancy dress, asked one of my brother's school friends to accompany me, we took photos. Heaps of photos, in preparation for... now, I guess. The finding and looking back on them.

I'd put some of them up here, but I still hate them. 

I’ve seen many women talk about looking back at teenage photos of themselves, when they were desperately insecure about their bodies, and reflecting now that they wish they’d realised how beautiful they were - extending a time-traveller's hand of compassion to their young selves. I don’t feel that way at all. 

Looking back at the photographs from this exalted age, I can’t wish myself back there, or feel like my self consciousness was unjustified, or vaseline over my flaws with the romantic filter of retrospective self-love. I can only see my discomfort – my shoulders up around my ears, the puppy fat and the defensive set of my jaw. It would take a kinder or older eye than my current one to wish for that period of my youth back. Though I guess I can feel the pity for myself that I refused to feel back then - I buried my feelings in books and daydreams and escaped the feeling of being in my body almost entirely. 

University was another story; I grew into myself there one psychological limb at a time, and felt if not feminine or glamorous, a kind of powerful pleasure in myself as a piece of work that’s stood me in good stead ever since. 

I sorted through those photos and thought about saving them for when I'm old enough to look back on them fondly. Then I pulled out a few of the ones with my family in them, and dumped the rest in the bin. 

I started annotating the script of Savage today, for those of you who are interested, and ended up writing a bunch of footnotes, branching off into different strands of memory. Let me know if you'd prefer to read the script with or without footnotes in the comments section below!

xx

A

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