My teenage cleavage

And other ways to get attention

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Today, I’m writing about body confidence.

Clothes have been on my mind because I have ‘nothing to wear,’ or more specifically, no jeans or trousers I want to put on, having spent months in lockdown this time last year in either black skinny jeans or slightly baggier blue ones that now don’t feel fit for leaving the house. So, on Friday I went shopping and ended up buying some high-waisted Levi’s with a slight flare, which I’m hoping will go with the collection of animal print polo necks I also appear to have acquired.

Shopping at the Levi’s store was a blast from the past, because as a 1990s teen, Levi’s jeans were my first proper fashion investment (along with Dr Martens boots), and after I bought them, I remember sitting in the choir stalls at church, leaning slightly forwards and hoping the guy I fancied sitting behind me would notice my 501s. I think I wished my clothes could do the talking and somehow the little red tab on my back pocket would make me instantly more attractive.

I used what I wore to get attention, but it was probably no surprise given the era - which seemed to be all about tits

Going further back, I remember a time at primary school when we got to wear our own clothes for the day. There was much excitement around this ‘mufti day’ and I chose a pair of skin-tight, dark blue denim jeans that my mother had bought me at a second-hand sale. It was the 1980s when skinny jeans and batwing tops were fashionable the first time round, and I was about eight or nine.

Examining myself in front of the mirror in my new-to-me jeans, I remember saying ‘Ben will like me in these!’ within my mother’s earshot. Ben was a dark-haired, cute-faced boy in my class, and I imagined chatting to all my friends in the playground on mufti day while he regarded my new look. He would notice me at last.

I don’t remember anything about mufti day itself, but the fantasy of Ben admiring me from a distance remains. The reality of my relationship with him was likely one where we barely spoke but I thought I could attract him simply by being pretty and elusive. I knew little about him, other than that he was always with a friend called Joachim and was one of the cleverest boys in the class.

I swung from self-confidently posing in front of the mirror to standing by the side of the dancefloor in hipster trousers and a crop top, chilly and self-conscious

At university, I continued using clothes in an attempt to attract men, stuffing my cream lace Wonderbra with all the polyester pads I could lay my hands on, tightening the straps and squeezing myself into a plunging top to go to the students’ union on a Friday night. Then, I would pretend not to notice the guy I fancied as I rushed across the dancefloor to hug friends (notice a pattern here?), before he came over to me at the bar later and I would casually say ‘Oh, hi.’

I used what I wore to get attention, but it was probably no surprise given the era - which seemed to be all about tits. During the years before uni, ads like the famous ‘Hello Boys’ billboard were everywhere, featuring model Eva Herzigova in a Wonderbra, while Elizabeth Hurley walked the red carpet in a Versace dress held together by safety pins (both 1994). Boyfriends plastered booby posters from men’s magazines all over their bedroom walls and I remember sitting on a bus with friends while a male acquaintance told us which celebrities’ breasts he felt were similar to ours.

It was a time where I swung from self-confidently posing in front of the mirror to standing by the side of the dancefloor in hipster trousers and a crop top, chilly and self-conscious. I felt pressure to conform to a certain look and wanted validation from ‘guys’ that I was attractive, rather than being in the moment and having fun.

Looking back, I’m fairly sure I looked pretty good, I just didn’t know how to let my personality shine beyond my appearance. I think a lot of people do this. Most of us want to appear presentable, and I was brought up to believe that making an effort shows respect for yourself and others. It was - and still is - a little like armour for me. But I think I relied too much on my clothes to make up for my lack of self-confidence – sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Now the stuffed bra is long gone, and I am much happier with myself and my body. I just hope I can rock my new flared Levi’s.

Things I like

Living within the longing

Conversations On Love, a book by journalist Natasha Lunn, is dedicated to “anyone who feels lost in longing,” and is a gorgeous mixture of essays on love, loss and friendship, and interviews with people like relationship therapist Esther Perel and philosopher Alain de Botton. Natasha writes about how she used to be “obsessed” with love and states: “All those years and nights I spent asking: ‘When will I find love?’ I never paused to think about what precisely it was.” It’s a brilliant read for anyone, regardless of whether they are in a romantic relationship or not.

A shameless plug

I’ve been doing acting improvisation classes with Conor Jatter from Hoopla Impro for a few weeks and love it. There’s no pressure to be funny or clever and I’ve had to get used to the vulnerability of being put on the spot as Conor gets us to rap our names, sing spontaneously or pretend to be a chicken in front of an audience. My group has its very first live show on 25 November in London Bridge, and if you fancy a laugh on a free night out, you can get tickets here.