By Aaron Ibanez
There is no doubt that wanting to ‘fit in’ is a primitive human desire. Now, more than ever, it is rife. There are so many groups of lads that patrol the high streets and the club scene, wearing the same shit as their best mate, that it’s difficult to tell them apart. Socks with toms or without, you’re still a twat. However, I still believe Britain cares more now about how it dresses than at any point in my lifetime. I think it’s something to do with Chavs, One Direction and Primark but I couldn’t be sure, I’m no pop culture guru or social scientist. But for me, dressing well began at school…
2004, Year 6. I live for playtimes. In these mid morning, lunch time and afternoon breaks, I viciously play football and tell girls to fuck off. My final few weeks as a junior are coming to an end and to make sure that beyond the playground I’d still be around the same mates, we all picked to go to the same High School. So as a soon to be year 7, I was invited to go, like most pupils, and experience high school life on an induction day, before properly starting in September.
At this point, year 6 was getting on and I’d been given my last allocation of new school shoes for the term. But with the countless playtimes spent playing three-and-in, admittedly, my Kickers were fucked, so there was no chance they’d be fit for induction day. This really played on my mind and kept me up at night. My idea of high school was this place where playtime was for kids and it was all about looking the part for those high school bints and impressing the older lads who seemed superior to you. Of course, you were going from being oldest in one school to youngest in an another so we all just wanted to make an impression. I just wanted to fit in. I had the skinhead and knew the scally lingo, it was just a case of finding the appropriate secondary school accessories, so I could get by.
Prior to the induction day, I remember showing my tremendously scuffed Kickers to my dad and explaining how they were going to get me bullied. So, with my Dad being a proud man, he agreed after the endless whining persuasion, to get me a new pair. Now, I’d heard of these boots, that would outlast an entire school year, everyone had them in Secondary School apparently and I knew, if I was going to survive, they’d be perfect. They were £130. They were a pair of Rockports. The shoes that were like wearing Brock Lesnar’s Traps on your feet. No mercy, no nonsense.
Come induction day, no one said a word about them, because everyone had a pair, even the girls. They were expected, anything less and you were looked down on, or at least thought less of. Like the goth trog kids who wore Vans with florescent laces.
When September came round and I was an official year 7, I’d been wearing a black Mac in the Sac that was my mum’s. It had this massive pocket on the front, where it could fold into itself and be carried, basically an anorak with an in built fanny pack. It was practical, but never… really that cool. Coats were too expensive, it was the kind of thing to be left for Santa, (who later on that year I discovered wasn’t real). I also had my eyes set on a new Rucksack. I was currently wearing a red and white Liverpool bag pack, that looked like something Ash Ketchum would wear. It was hideous, I’m sure I got it for free in the post because I was a member of the supporters club. I needed something that would complement the Rockports, and a Berghaus was the answer.
As the years went on, we were maturing through Secondary School picking up on the trends. I slowly noticed changes in the haircuts, the bags and the shoes. Rockports turned into black Adidas Velcros, then to loafers, then actual shoes. Scruffy hairdos were becoming more clean cut, and lads started wearing bags that the girls would wear, ‘Manbags’ apparently. We were all doing it. As you get older you become more confident and less insecure about what you wear and how you wear it, you just do it. If you get shit for it, you just take it.It was when I was in year 13, my final year, I noticed that my school, that was renowned for gobby council house kids and an assortment of scruff bags had became extremely Metrosexual. Now the die-hard rapscallions would call this emerging group camp as fuck, but the fact is, there were outnumbered and now it’s in full effect.
My little brother started Secondary School this year, 7 years after myself, and the contrast to when I went is blowing my mind. For starters, the comb over is cool? He rocks it regularly. He, like every other kid is wearing Vans and their blazers are being buttoned up. These kind of kids back in my day would have been thrown in the dustbins round the back of the canteen for looking like a Westlife reject.
I guess fashion is very particular to a generation. Things fall in and out of vogue. The last time I saw a pair of Rockports was on a face picking skag head’s feet near an underpass. Maybe that’s where they belong.
I think the two main culprits for this modern fashion overhaul are Harry Styles and the iPhone. They have defined a generation. Harry Styles is in arguably the biggest boy band of the century, making girls wet with his glance. He’s a figure that most boys between the ages of 12 – 18 are secretly jealous of. They want what he’s got. Not the shit tattoos, but this sparkly image. His influence is far reaching. Again it comes down to primal desires. When you leave primary school, girls actually become relevant. You want to impress. Sadly, Harry Styles is the style icon for this. Boys across the country will deny it, but, inadvertently they’re imitating him.
Now with the iPhone, it promotes these things called ‘selfies’ and ‘bedroom vanity’. Personal image is everything. People with an iPhone feel a duty to show the social networking world, you, in your finest river island garments from the comfort of the bathroom. This concept generates an entire culture dedicated to narcissism. Just you and the mirror. It’s too much. Some lads are even wearing fake tan to school, what the fuck is going on?
Aaron Ibanez. Proud to be of ’93.
Leave a Reply