"Youth," she said with a shudder

It started in Victoria's Secret. I went there the other day and I left completely disturbed. Not by the posters this time either. Not even by the green pair of sweatpants that proclaimed 'PINK' on the butt. Those things, though stupid, were tame in comparison. What killed me, I mean absolutely killed me, were the girls. Girls ages 13-17.

Let me start by saying, I remember being 13 years old and going shopping. Oh I remember it. I remember the embarrassment and self consciousness that would make me end up only buying shoes or a bracelet. I remember staring at my chest, wondering what was wrong with me. I think I wore a sports bra for about three years before I realized anything else existed. It was torture to stand in a fitting room and try on undergarments for women while I was still built like a boy. I also remember being 16, still at odds with my body, though suddenly no longer built like a boy. In some ways this made the chore of shopping even more humiliating. I wasn't sure of my size anymore. I wasn't sure what types of clothing I should be wearing. I wasn't sure how things should fit, I wasn't sure of anything, least of all my appearance, and I had little guidance when it came down to bras and panties. Those things were private after all. Disagree with me if you want, but I'd say most girls my age and older experienced this type of discomfort and awkwardness at that age.

The thing I noticed during my last trip to purchase unmentionables was the lack of that obvious awkwardness in young girls. Now, it could be argued that I am too far the other way. I still have a sense of embarrassment about physicality. I basically wear turtleneck sweaters, flannel pajama bottoms, and knee socks to bed. I still get slightly embarrassed buying any type of underwear, even the grandma kind. Regardless, I don't think I'm that out of touch. However, when I see a 14 year old girl shopping for lingerie with her pimply, 15 year old, brace-faced boyfriend, I want to vomit. I think to myself, "Isn't holding hands supposed to make them blush at their age?". My mind races on, "Shouldn't their idea of a date be sitting silently, uncomfortably, side by side in the backseat of a car while their mother drives them to a movie?!" "Shouldn't they be unable to make eye contact!?" I have so many ideas I want to share with them and I am contemplating approaching the children with these ideas when I hear her say, "How would I look in this?" and she holds a leopard print something or other to her body and giggles and that's it. My head explodes. I have wasted away into a pile on the floor. The thing is, I could have possibly pieced my head back together were it not for the two dozen other teenage girls doing basically the same thing, though the majority of them did not have their boyfriends in tow. I know what you're thinking, "How big was this Victoria's Secret? It must have been huge to house 30, screeching, pubescent girls." Answer: No, it was just your average, cramped, whorey-smelling Victoria's Secret.

I'm still trying to decide what bothered me the most about my experience at the panty shop. Was it the lack of fear they displayed about their bodies? No, that's not it. What a world it would be if girls no longer had body issues. But there was something about it. Perhaps they had confidence, but certainly they were lacking self-respect. They stood staring in mirrors in a frightening way and it was almost like I could read their minds: like me, want me, love me.
I think what bothered me most is that I realized there is a stage missing. Going straight from childhood to womanhood. Well, not real womanhood, but a version of it. It's damaging, I think, to miss the awkwardness of developing. To miss those years when we can't sit in a chair without wondering if we should be sitting a different way. They are important, no matter how uncomfortable. They make us more empathetic, more caring.

And sometimes I think, maybe it's just different now. Maybe they do feel that way inside, maybe kids are just different now. Maybe I'm just getting older. Maybe it's just because I'm around adults all day, etc., etc. But rationalize as I might, I can't get them out of my head. The way they didn't blush, the way they walked, the way they smelled of entitlement. It's strange and at least for me and my outdated ways, a disturbing change.

In unrelated news, I will be opening a new lingerie shop. The only fabrics available will be flannel and cotton. Girls only. Adult, normal, female chaperones required.