Recently, while reminiscing with old school friends over drinks, we discussed our teachers and the lengths we went to shorten our skirts. Then some friends spoke about the intense pressures they felt at our top all-girls’ grammar school.
I fondly remarked, “It wasn’t all bad.” Jo responded sharply, “Well, you would say that; you were a bully.”
The term “bully” felt jarring and alien. Me? A bully? I laughed it off, thinking Jo must be joking. Yet, her serious expression suggested otherwise.
When I think of a bully, I picture someone physical, but as Jo and I talked more, I had to confront that I had indeed caused pain and humiliation to my classmates. I’m embarrassed to admit I was a Mean Girl.
The movie Mean Girls came out as I was finishing sixth form, and its portrayal of teenage girl hierarchies resonated with me. From age 12, I was part of a gang called ‘La Clique,’ known for our viciousness.
