Memories/ Communism

I’m not a Skirt Girl

And that didn’t suit a communist school

Photo by Dynamic Wang on Unsplash — The way I feel when I put on a skirt

When I was very little, I didn’t mind my mom dressing me in whatever girly outfit she chose — she was, and still is, very much a girly girl. But the moment I realized I had a mind of my own, I said no.

This happened in third grade, and what I absolutely refused to accept in my small but highly self-conscious world was wearing skirts and dresses.

The very thought of something flying around my legs, threatening to show what lay beneath at the slightest breeze, filled me with terror. Plus, I didn’t like how I looked in those things. My legs were too skinny. I was a tiny girl. I looked ridiculous.

Even as a baby, I seemed to prefer pants. 😋Photo credit: author

In first and second grade, we wore our meticulous communist blue-and-white uniforms to school every day. By third grade, change was already in the air — uniforms were removed and kept only for communist celebrations. Which, as it happened, were quite frequent. We celebrated not only the holidays traditionally acclaimed by the Regime — for which I’ll make another post, as they’re quite an interesting topic on their own — but also local ones tied to the…