More Boarding School Analysis
Dec. 2nd, 2010 12:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fabrisseThis is going to get into some interestingly personal territory about why I identify with the character of Kurt on Glee as well as conformity at private schools.
My Dalton didn't have uniforms. I wish we had. I survived the ugly box-pleated plaid uniform of the Catholic School I attended for four years (with peter pan collars required for the blouses. UGLY.), and could have survived, maybe even rocked, a uniform for high school.
Instead, I went to a place that was preppy. I'm not. While I don't actually break into hives when I see a little alligator on a polo shirt, it's a near thing. Fair Isle sweaters look great on Scottish maidens, but are not to my taste. Docksider shoes are an abomination that give me blisters.
I wore heels. No one wore t-strap shoes with two inch heels in the 1970s. I did. I still walk well in heels -- something that most women who wear Jimmy Choo's don't manage. I also, my first year, generally prefered skirts or dresses. Not many did.
It's only as I come to write this that I realize there were two issues besides my defiantly flamboyant personality that really, really bothered my classmates -- especially my two roommates. The first sounds conceited, but I was conventionally pretty. My roommates actually gave me a preppy makeover -- not neglecting my distinctive walk -- and raved over the results. Unlike some of the other girls who were outcasts or flamboyant, I could have been one of the preps. Had I chosen to take their advice, I could have been like them, someone they didn't have to hide in the proverbial crazy attic.
Instead, I looked in the mirror and shuddered. I never wore their clothes again. However, in my second year at school, I started wearing khakis. They were my Dad's old uniform khakis. I wore them with men's shirts (yes, the Annie Hall look was coming in) and heels. I found ways to look more like a "Dalton" girl without being anything less than Fabi.
The second item is, I think, part of what people react to about Kurt. I was sensual. It's a disconcerting quality in a teenager -- some people are disconcerted by it in an adult. I moisturized. I didn't tan. I wore silky clothing next to my skin when everyone else wore cotton. I wore real perfume, not Jean Nate or Luv's Baby Soft. I cooked when I was able to. It wasn't so much that I dressed or presented myself as older -- I'd been mistaken for a college student when I was 12 because I was already fully developed. It was that I wore things which pleased me not because they were visual, but because they were tactile. And in the 1970s there were drapey fabrics (mostly polyester, sadly) which allowed me the pleasure of touch.
Kurt, with his silk scarves, fitted sweaters, and 40 minute moisturizing routine presents the same kind of issue. It's somewhat more acceptable for a woman/girl than it is for him, but sensuality can be very disconcerting for other teenagers.
On a less personal note, when I arrived at school, I was handed a piece of string with a safety pin in it and told I was to wear a tail until told by an upperclassman that I could take it off. While I wore the tail, I would be expected to do anything an upperclassman told me to do. I thought about it overnight and, when I got up the next morning, did not wear the tail.
There was a delegation including the head prefect and my "big sister" who came to my room and tried to convince me, for class and school cohesion, to participate. By this time, I knew there were other freshmen who did not want to wear the tails, but were too nervous not to conform. I continued to say no, and I cited the recent spate of hazing deaths in the state -- at the college level -- as a reason not to do so.
During this conversation, it came out that this was not a time honored tradition of the school. This was the first year they'd tried it. The hazing was being attempted BECAUSE of the recent spate of deaths. They were trying to defend the practice because these college men were part of our dating pool. Whatever sympathy I might have had to an old tradition immediately flew out the window.
The last thing the head prefect said to me as I ushered them out of my room was "You'll give the orders when you're a senior." My reply was that I wouldn't because I found both sides of the coin to be degrading.
Over the next week while my roomates and other freshmen were continuing to participate in this ritual -- and it was amazing how quickly the "cool" freshmen were allowed to remove their tails, there was a great deal of pressure from them to conform. I was even told that if I put on the tail and did one simple chore, I'd be immediately released from any other duties. I said no.
On the Saturday, we had the freshman-senior picnic. As a boarder, I wasn't allowed not to attend, but since I hadn't worn the tail I wasn't allowed to participate in any of the activities besides eating. I brought a book. I watched as the seniors at several points yelled "Dead bug" and my fellow freshmen immediately laid on their backs with their legs in the air.
That was the only year that hazing ritual was practiced. My refusal to don the tail even for an hour kept it from being tried again the next year.
I don't know whether I made a deliberate choice or just forgot to attach the damned tail on the first day. I do know I made enemies among the prefects (and friends of two other junior prefects, I later found) by not going back to my room and getting it.
I'm proud of the fact that I didn't conform. I made enemies, but I also made friends. At least three of the young women who were freshmen with me, chose not to return as sophomores and cited to me the hazing that first week as part of the reason they didn't want to be long-term members of the student body.
Sorry for the rambling.
My Dalton didn't have uniforms. I wish we had. I survived the ugly box-pleated plaid uniform of the Catholic School I attended for four years (with peter pan collars required for the blouses. UGLY.), and could have survived, maybe even rocked, a uniform for high school.
Instead, I went to a place that was preppy. I'm not. While I don't actually break into hives when I see a little alligator on a polo shirt, it's a near thing. Fair Isle sweaters look great on Scottish maidens, but are not to my taste. Docksider shoes are an abomination that give me blisters.
I wore heels. No one wore t-strap shoes with two inch heels in the 1970s. I did. I still walk well in heels -- something that most women who wear Jimmy Choo's don't manage. I also, my first year, generally prefered skirts or dresses. Not many did.
It's only as I come to write this that I realize there were two issues besides my defiantly flamboyant personality that really, really bothered my classmates -- especially my two roommates. The first sounds conceited, but I was conventionally pretty. My roommates actually gave me a preppy makeover -- not neglecting my distinctive walk -- and raved over the results. Unlike some of the other girls who were outcasts or flamboyant, I could have been one of the preps. Had I chosen to take their advice, I could have been like them, someone they didn't have to hide in the proverbial crazy attic.
Instead, I looked in the mirror and shuddered. I never wore their clothes again. However, in my second year at school, I started wearing khakis. They were my Dad's old uniform khakis. I wore them with men's shirts (yes, the Annie Hall look was coming in) and heels. I found ways to look more like a "Dalton" girl without being anything less than Fabi.
The second item is, I think, part of what people react to about Kurt. I was sensual. It's a disconcerting quality in a teenager -- some people are disconcerted by it in an adult. I moisturized. I didn't tan. I wore silky clothing next to my skin when everyone else wore cotton. I wore real perfume, not Jean Nate or Luv's Baby Soft. I cooked when I was able to. It wasn't so much that I dressed or presented myself as older -- I'd been mistaken for a college student when I was 12 because I was already fully developed. It was that I wore things which pleased me not because they were visual, but because they were tactile. And in the 1970s there were drapey fabrics (mostly polyester, sadly) which allowed me the pleasure of touch.
Kurt, with his silk scarves, fitted sweaters, and 40 minute moisturizing routine presents the same kind of issue. It's somewhat more acceptable for a woman/girl than it is for him, but sensuality can be very disconcerting for other teenagers.
On a less personal note, when I arrived at school, I was handed a piece of string with a safety pin in it and told I was to wear a tail until told by an upperclassman that I could take it off. While I wore the tail, I would be expected to do anything an upperclassman told me to do. I thought about it overnight and, when I got up the next morning, did not wear the tail.
There was a delegation including the head prefect and my "big sister" who came to my room and tried to convince me, for class and school cohesion, to participate. By this time, I knew there were other freshmen who did not want to wear the tails, but were too nervous not to conform. I continued to say no, and I cited the recent spate of hazing deaths in the state -- at the college level -- as a reason not to do so.
During this conversation, it came out that this was not a time honored tradition of the school. This was the first year they'd tried it. The hazing was being attempted BECAUSE of the recent spate of deaths. They were trying to defend the practice because these college men were part of our dating pool. Whatever sympathy I might have had to an old tradition immediately flew out the window.
The last thing the head prefect said to me as I ushered them out of my room was "You'll give the orders when you're a senior." My reply was that I wouldn't because I found both sides of the coin to be degrading.
Over the next week while my roomates and other freshmen were continuing to participate in this ritual -- and it was amazing how quickly the "cool" freshmen were allowed to remove their tails, there was a great deal of pressure from them to conform. I was even told that if I put on the tail and did one simple chore, I'd be immediately released from any other duties. I said no.
On the Saturday, we had the freshman-senior picnic. As a boarder, I wasn't allowed not to attend, but since I hadn't worn the tail I wasn't allowed to participate in any of the activities besides eating. I brought a book. I watched as the seniors at several points yelled "Dead bug" and my fellow freshmen immediately laid on their backs with their legs in the air.
That was the only year that hazing ritual was practiced. My refusal to don the tail even for an hour kept it from being tried again the next year.
I don't know whether I made a deliberate choice or just forgot to attach the damned tail on the first day. I do know I made enemies among the prefects (and friends of two other junior prefects, I later found) by not going back to my room and getting it.
I'm proud of the fact that I didn't conform. I made enemies, but I also made friends. At least three of the young women who were freshmen with me, chose not to return as sophomores and cited to me the hazing that first week as part of the reason they didn't want to be long-term members of the student body.
Sorry for the rambling.
