My whole life I've never been the pretty or the popular friend. Of course I was always in the 'in' crowd and enjoyed the luxuries of being cool, but I was never the one who directly deserved the status. I was just an accomplice to my hotter friends.
It all started when I hit my awkward decade of braces, bushy eyebrows and gangly pale limbs. While my friends weren't without their flaws, they wore puberty much better than I did. It was fourth grade, I was a foot taller than everyone, wearing jincos and a weathervane tshirt and rocking straight across bushy bangs that started at the crown of my head. In school guys would talk to me, but, even at this age, I could only lock down the 'cool by association' friends of the guys I was really interested in. The saga continued into high school, where I was never the one invited to the cool parties directly, but the invitation was always extended on account of my budding friends who were growing more and more beautiful by the day.
As they grew chests and filled out pants, I stayed straight as a board with my new love handles as the only noticeable 'lumps' on my body. Between the braces, pale skin, and overuse of bronzer, I was a hopeless extra in a group of very hot friends. By 10th grade, I had given up on landing the guy everyone wanted to date and acknowledged that I was doomed for a life of 'settling' for 2nd, or 3rd best. Worse was that these 2nd or 3rds usually strategically dated me to get closer to my friends.
But it wasn't just with guys. I wanted desperately to be a cheerleader, but my clumsy limbs couldn't do the most basic of jumps, so I landed on the B squad. Not even able to ride the same bus as all of my A squad friends. In school, I excelled, but there was always that one kid smarter in class.
But then, one day around the middle of 11th grade, I lost the braces, befriended a straightener (and push up bra) and signed up for unlimited tanning. And while this did not catapult me up the status chain, I at least wasn't the 'ugly extra' friend any longer. In fact, I wasn't half bad.
High school came and went, and by senior year I was deemed reasonably attractive, winning prom queen and beauty and brains. I began feeling comfortable in my skin and had a decently handsome college boyfriend. Sure I was still miserably flat chested and doting what has been referred to as a 'pig nose' but people were no longer talking to me just to get in good with my hot friends.
This lasted a blissful 6 months until college. College presented a-whole-nother batch of problems. Attending a private catholic college seemed like a good idea in theory, but my classmates were all very wealthy in comparison to, well, me. And with money, comes better clothes, hair makeup, healthier food even! I was living off ramen and pizza, dying my hair out of a box and shopping at Target.. I was hopeless! Did I mention I parked my 96 pontiac sunfire right next to my friends sparkling new jeeps and audis? The girls I was up against were purebreds with all the bells and whistles. And alas, I was back to being fabulous by association. I was the friend who had no beach house to offer, no money for quality highlights, no idea what to do in a gym. Plus I was still struggling with being somewhat pretty, but never the prettiest. Skinny, but never the skinniest. And even in my honors classes with a 3.9 gpa, intelligent, but never the smartest.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Quit bitching. So you were a gangly disaster in junior high and high school, at least you still went to cool parties and had boyfriends. So you got injured in front of everyone while practicing for the B squad and never cheered again, at least your A squad friends didn't ostracize you. Oh and boo hoo hoo, you didn't have money in college? Join the freaking club. And I agree. My adolescence was rather easy in comparison to the bullying horror stories I've heard, but the actualization of being 'fabulous by association' took a drastic turn for the worst when I moved out to Los Angeles, and this.. I know you can sympathize with.
Los Angeles is a different beast. This women are flawless, get invited to lavish parties, have their parents or boyfriends (or both) credit cards and they live a life of luxury and bliss. Being fabulous by association is an honor out here, as it is coveted because of the giant pool of 'average' girls to chose from. Every hot girl needs someone to take pity on and make them look better right? Well I'm that chick.
Always the peasant never the princess. I am confined to a life of scraping by no matter how hard I work. This I have come to terms with, but it is still rather discouraging to never be able to pick up the tab, or buy the designer bag, or go on a vacation, or waste my daddy's money on, well everything.
Always the guest never the honoree. Sure I go to amazing launch parties, premiers, galas, award shows. But am i ever the name on the list? No! Of course not. Just a plus one.
Always the runner up never the winner. I still curse my mother for putting me in pageants starting at the ripe age of 5. But I take full responsibility for torturing myself year after year trying to win the Miss USA pageant. Hello, I'm 5'6 flat chested and I have a premature wrinkle from decades of tanning beds. Why didn't someone stop me!
Always coach never first class. Boo hoo you have to sit with the rest of us. Screw you guys, I'd be completely fine with being ignorantly happy and poor if I didn't have these friends jet setting around to locations I can't even pronounce.
Always the agent never the moviestar. God this one kills me. I WANT TO BE FAMOUS. There I said it. But what do I find myself doing for a living? Helping other people get famous. go. freaking. figure.
Always the 7, never the 10. In my prime in Boston I relished in being a solid 8 ...maybe on a good hair day a 9. Cocky yes, but I owned it. Here I'm lucky to pull of a 7 in the right lighting. But my friends?? All 10s. Sure there's some fake boobs and a nose job or two in there.. but honestly. All 10s. Who wants to be the 7 in a group of 10s? NO ONE. I'm bait for all the unattractive sniveling men who want to infiltrate our group.
And the list goes on ..and on ..and on ..and on. My friends are all talented and gorgeous. and Rich. And because of this they live these amazing-got-to-believe-it-to-see-it existences. I have been kindly adopted as a sidekick, mostly for my agreeability to do whatever their plans are (since I of course am never the one with the invite), and mostly because I make them look even hotter. I am okay in this arrangement, because their fabulosity isn't without perks. But just once I'd like to be the fabulous one, regardless of association.
It all started when I hit my awkward decade of braces, bushy eyebrows and gangly pale limbs. While my friends weren't without their flaws, they wore puberty much better than I did. It was fourth grade, I was a foot taller than everyone, wearing jincos and a weathervane tshirt and rocking straight across bushy bangs that started at the crown of my head. In school guys would talk to me, but, even at this age, I could only lock down the 'cool by association' friends of the guys I was really interested in. The saga continued into high school, where I was never the one invited to the cool parties directly, but the invitation was always extended on account of my budding friends who were growing more and more beautiful by the day.
As they grew chests and filled out pants, I stayed straight as a board with my new love handles as the only noticeable 'lumps' on my body. Between the braces, pale skin, and overuse of bronzer, I was a hopeless extra in a group of very hot friends. By 10th grade, I had given up on landing the guy everyone wanted to date and acknowledged that I was doomed for a life of 'settling' for 2nd, or 3rd best. Worse was that these 2nd or 3rds usually strategically dated me to get closer to my friends.
But it wasn't just with guys. I wanted desperately to be a cheerleader, but my clumsy limbs couldn't do the most basic of jumps, so I landed on the B squad. Not even able to ride the same bus as all of my A squad friends. In school, I excelled, but there was always that one kid smarter in class.
But then, one day around the middle of 11th grade, I lost the braces, befriended a straightener (and push up bra) and signed up for unlimited tanning. And while this did not catapult me up the status chain, I at least wasn't the 'ugly extra' friend any longer. In fact, I wasn't half bad.
High school came and went, and by senior year I was deemed reasonably attractive, winning prom queen and beauty and brains. I began feeling comfortable in my skin and had a decently handsome college boyfriend. Sure I was still miserably flat chested and doting what has been referred to as a 'pig nose' but people were no longer talking to me just to get in good with my hot friends.
This lasted a blissful 6 months until college. College presented a-whole-nother batch of problems. Attending a private catholic college seemed like a good idea in theory, but my classmates were all very wealthy in comparison to, well, me. And with money, comes better clothes, hair makeup, healthier food even! I was living off ramen and pizza, dying my hair out of a box and shopping at Target.. I was hopeless! Did I mention I parked my 96 pontiac sunfire right next to my friends sparkling new jeeps and audis? The girls I was up against were purebreds with all the bells and whistles. And alas, I was back to being fabulous by association. I was the friend who had no beach house to offer, no money for quality highlights, no idea what to do in a gym. Plus I was still struggling with being somewhat pretty, but never the prettiest. Skinny, but never the skinniest. And even in my honors classes with a 3.9 gpa, intelligent, but never the smartest.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Quit bitching. So you were a gangly disaster in junior high and high school, at least you still went to cool parties and had boyfriends. So you got injured in front of everyone while practicing for the B squad and never cheered again, at least your A squad friends didn't ostracize you. Oh and boo hoo hoo, you didn't have money in college? Join the freaking club. And I agree. My adolescence was rather easy in comparison to the bullying horror stories I've heard, but the actualization of being 'fabulous by association' took a drastic turn for the worst when I moved out to Los Angeles, and this.. I know you can sympathize with.
Los Angeles is a different beast. This women are flawless, get invited to lavish parties, have their parents or boyfriends (or both) credit cards and they live a life of luxury and bliss. Being fabulous by association is an honor out here, as it is coveted because of the giant pool of 'average' girls to chose from. Every hot girl needs someone to take pity on and make them look better right? Well I'm that chick.
Always the peasant never the princess. I am confined to a life of scraping by no matter how hard I work. This I have come to terms with, but it is still rather discouraging to never be able to pick up the tab, or buy the designer bag, or go on a vacation, or waste my daddy's money on, well everything.
Always the guest never the honoree. Sure I go to amazing launch parties, premiers, galas, award shows. But am i ever the name on the list? No! Of course not. Just a plus one.
Always the runner up never the winner. I still curse my mother for putting me in pageants starting at the ripe age of 5. But I take full responsibility for torturing myself year after year trying to win the Miss USA pageant. Hello, I'm 5'6 flat chested and I have a premature wrinkle from decades of tanning beds. Why didn't someone stop me!
Always coach never first class. Boo hoo you have to sit with the rest of us. Screw you guys, I'd be completely fine with being ignorantly happy and poor if I didn't have these friends jet setting around to locations I can't even pronounce.
Always the agent never the moviestar. God this one kills me. I WANT TO BE FAMOUS. There I said it. But what do I find myself doing for a living? Helping other people get famous. go. freaking. figure.
Always the 7, never the 10. In my prime in Boston I relished in being a solid 8 ...maybe on a good hair day a 9. Cocky yes, but I owned it. Here I'm lucky to pull of a 7 in the right lighting. But my friends?? All 10s. Sure there's some fake boobs and a nose job or two in there.. but honestly. All 10s. Who wants to be the 7 in a group of 10s? NO ONE. I'm bait for all the unattractive sniveling men who want to infiltrate our group.
And the list goes on ..and on ..and on ..and on. My friends are all talented and gorgeous. and Rich. And because of this they live these amazing-got-to-believe-it-to-see-it existences. I have been kindly adopted as a sidekick, mostly for my agreeability to do whatever their plans are (since I of course am never the one with the invite), and mostly because I make them look even hotter. I am okay in this arrangement, because their fabulosity isn't without perks. But just once I'd like to be the fabulous one, regardless of association.
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