The drive to school was tense. My mom had demanded silence after listening to a van full of girls complaining about the dresses she had chosen for us for picture day. My oldest sister was allowed to wear overall shorts and a shirt she had chosen, but the younger four of us had to wear flowery, lacey dresses that looked like bad flower girl dresses.
We unloaded from the van just in time to hear the warning bell for the start of school. I grabbed my bag and hurried around the school to my designated entrance. It was a warm September day, warm enough to wear shorts, but I had a light jacket on to help hide the hideous dress. When I walked into the entrance I stopped in my tracks. Contrasting my awful dress, and big backcombed hair, I saw that my peers were wearing jeans and t-shirts. None of their moms had made them dress up for picture day.
My sister and I are Irish twins, which meant that we were in the same 5/6 split classroom, and because we were so close in age my mom had always insisted on having us match. I was never the typical little girl, and hated to wear dresses, so I was uncomfortable and very self-conscious. I could feel the eyes of the other children on me and my attire, and heard stifled laughter at the fact that my sister and I, at 10 and 11 years old were dressed as twins.
There were only four classrooms in my school, so we wouldn’t have long to wait until it was our turn to go into the gym for our photos. When it was our turn, the teacher lined us up by height. I was always one of the shorter students, so I was near the end of the line. Entering the cold gym, the photographer started selecting students and directing them on where to sit and stand on the benches for our class picture. I was hopeful that even though I was almost always in the front row, I usually was near the end. I watched him place my sister in the middle of the front row, in her puffy ensemble, the dress taking up the space of a student on either side of her, while he commented on how “pretty” she looked. He continued to fill in all the gaps until it was my turn.
When he saw my dress, he commented on how pretty we both looked, and we should be together, so after a few minor adjustments, there I was, front and center. I am not smiling in the photo. I refused to. I was uncomfortable and embarrassed to be made such a spectacle of.
First off, so sorry I didn’t post this earlier.
You were able to make a very relatable reading, in regards to gender and even family aspects. I think it was interesting to see someone who presents as female also struggle with wearing more feminine clothing (it’s relatable to me but for far different reasonings). It was a nice reminder that even people who present as the sex they were born as don’t always like the restrictions on them, or being forced to present in something they do not like. It sheds light on the narrative that women are supposed to be “girly” all the time, which isn’t a fact. Women are allowed to be comfortable, and not done up all the time.
I can also relate to not smiling during photos where one was forced into something they don’t like. If you were to view my childhood photos, I’d say 90% of them there isn’t a smile on my face, even though everyone around me would be complimenting the outfit, or how my Nan would be over joyed when her “piece” came together.