oh, to be classy

the first time i can remember hearing anyone refer to someone as being "classy" was when i was about 10 years old and i was at summer camp. there was a girl in my cabin, around the same age as me, and i heard 2 different "adults" (i put it in quotes because they seemed like adults to me then, but they were probably about 18) say that this girl was classy. i wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but it was clear that they said it in an admiring and somewhat surprised way. i deemed it to be something that i should strive for, whatever it was, so i watched this girl, heather, and studied her behavior and mannerisms, trying to learn something that would make me a better person.

i noticed that she shaved her legs, dry, sitting on her bed. she ate less candy than most of us. she showered daily without anyone having to tell her to. she wasn't a participant in the out-of-control giggle-fests that ran rampant during the evenings at camp. she had naturally curly hair.

i tried to emulate some of those qualities in the weeks and months to come. i tried to willingly eat less junk food. i tried to laugh less and shower more. i tried out the dry shave, but owie with the post-shave razor burn, so i gave it up after one round. i didn't have curly hair, but i sure had a tight perm (thanks, grandma).

i had another friend, my childhood bestie, who i've talked about in several of my childhood story recountings on this blog, who i learned was also a classy kind of girl. her family had significantly more money than my family did & she was an only child, so i thought maybe that was part of it. but there was nothing i could do about my family's income or my multiple siblings. i couldn't afford to dress expensively, but eventually i realized it wasn't so much about how you dressed or where you lived, but more about how you carried yourself and presented yourself to the world.



i tried to be this



i wanted to be a girl who others admired for her style, maturity, and sophistication. i wanted the adults around me to tell each other that i was classy and wish that their kids were like me. i really did try.

but i never quite managed to be that girl. i was loud. i laughed obnoxiously and often. i spit on the ground after snorking up big loogies. i burped out tunes. i talked about my period. i kissed boys and told everyone about it. i ate large quantities of nachos and didn't wash my hands. i carved my name into benches and walls. i made weird faces and talked in stupid voices. i was rarely subdued when my friends were around and i was the first one to stand on a bench and scream over the heads of a crowd in order to get the attention of someone i wanted to speak with.



but i was more like this



eventually i realized that i was never going to be someone who would be labeled as classy. however, i did discover that i had earned the label of fun. and while fun isn't admired in the same way that classy is, it was something that people liked to have around. the fun girl is a good time at a party or a on a road trip. the fun girl knows how to make the best of even the most embarrassing situations and rather than hide those moments, she celebrates them. the fun girl is chattery and outrageous and noisy.

there are still days when i think i could become a classy lady, but then i find myself digging a bug out of my cleavage in a very public place while squealing and spinning around on tip-toe and i realize, yet again, that it will never be.