The Mothership And I

When I first left home to go to college, the thing I probably looked forward to most of all was not having to hear my mum yelling "Comb your hair!" at me every morning- after a combing had been done (my hair and hairbrush/comb will never be friends. Sad, but true). Back then, I'd just chucked my school uniform out and was struggling with the idea that I would actually have to choose what to wear every morning after this- a prospect I found more than a little daunting, since most first-years at college tend to desire inconspicuity of appearance, at least in their first few months there. And frankly speaking, I didn't really have anything by way of style at all. I more or less lived through that first year in t-shirts and jeans and the odd oversized checked shirt, with the addition of equally oversized sweaters when it got cold.
I'm not sure at what exact point I actually started wearing things I liked, the way I liked them. I didn't even realise I was getting that way till I went home for the holidays, and the inevitable Mummy Wars began. My mum is a woman who is a tad straitlaced as far as attitudes to clothing go. She wouldn't blink if I wore fishnets, but she really doesn't get why people mix up the things they wear. Or the aesthetic appeal of anything punky, grungy, louche, loud or otherwise unladylike, which is a bit annoying if one of your early heroines happens to be Corinne Day. She very definitely does not understand why messy hair can be considered hot. We're entering our fifth year of occasional bickerings over the nature of my appearance, which inevitably pop up every time I'm back from college- the last point of conflict was my fringe (too long and thick, said The Mothership: but it has to be, since I'd have to get my eyebrows done if the fringe didn't cover them, said I. Then there was a full-fledged debate about why I didn't get my eyebrows done any more). I do know some of the slightly odder clothing configurations that have emerged from my cupboard in these years- skirts as dresses, chopped-up sleeves and hems, weird hair ornaments, sneakers with anything and everything- would not have been possible had I been living with my parents all this while. It's a lot more peaceful now that I'm older, but I do sometimes wonder what I'd look like if I'd done just that.
In Mum's world, pretty dresses go with pretty shoes and other pretty things- she made that vision work excellently on me as a toddler. In mine, pretty gives me the hives if I don't tone it down with a good dose of ugly first. If we were shoes, I'd probably be a Doc Marten boot (or one of the Balenciaga 'goat' shoes of last year): my mother would most certainly be a stiletto. And just you try wearing both of those at once...