Behind the Mask of the High School Facade

By Lois Lane

Mirror, Mirror on the wall...ever think you're maybe a bit too harsh? I mean, why is it that just as the importance of being cool is at its height, puberty kicks in and cripples us with all things awkward? What are you telling us - that all the non-Lindsay Lohans are just supposed to deal?

This year alone, some 75,000 cosmetic surgeries will be implemented on kids. Kids. As in, under the age of eighteen, not allowed to vote, kids. The same I-can't-even-get-a-sunflower-tattoo'd-on-my-ankle-without-parental- consent 'tween can go under the knife, get pumped with chemicals, nipped, tucked, stitched and switched, all with a thumbs-up from Mom.

I'm a fan of wanting to put the best foot forward, but when plastic surgery is a suggestion of a parent, a ref needs to blow the whistle. It's hard enough for some of us to maneuver the hallways without mom and dad also reminding us to suck it in. So, an afternoon of downing triple caps at the Talon got me thinking about teen pressures. The desire to fit in consumes almost every aspect of our high school experience.

Senior Abby Fine used to hide in a Crow's mascot costume to dodge a daily barrage of insults. Her mother, a plastic surgeon who recently found herself on the other side of the clipboard, saw a reflection of her own insecurities in her acne-scarred daughter. So desperate to rid Abby of imperfection, Dr. Fine implemented an untested surgical procedure that left Abby with the power to make people see themselves as ugly with a single kiss. After sharing a smooch with football player Brett Anderson, it became clear - high school is a game of facades. Though Brett seemed like a pillar of confidence, the kiss triggered a Serotonin imbalance that exposed his innermost fears. He didn't add up. He wouldn't fit in. He might as well die.

It doesn't matter how thick your pads are or how high your pom-poms wave, high school puts every student through the ringer. When everyone seems to have it so together, we have to remind ourselves that nobody does. We'll all commit the occasional fashion blooper, we'll all break out with an occasional blemish, we might drop the occasional pass or receive the occasional B. High school is four years where we're exposed to a new experience every single day and we're allowed to be awkward and overwhelmed.

In ten years I bet we look back and realize two things. One, everyone was desperate to fit in. And two, whether it be a team, a clique, a club or a bra-size, no one really knew what exactly they were trying to fit in to or why it was so important at the time. We just knew it felt like life or death. And then I bet we laugh.