I watched Mean Girls the other day for probably the tenth time, which should surprise no one, as I turn on this movie any time it’s available. I have a girl crush on Tina Fey, the same kind of crush I have on Anderson Cooper, the kind of crush that is not about making out but more about getting together and wearing fabulous shoes and trendy, geeky glasses and making snarky comments as we watch The Real Housewives of Whereever and eat crudite and swig Grey Goose straight from the bottle. And I always sort of hope that as Tina gets drunker, she’d tell the carrots and celery to go fuck themselves and sit on my kitchen counter eating peanut butter out of the jar with her finger. And Anderson would look on in horror.
I also watch this movie so I can weep for Lindsay Lohan, the Lindsay of the modern Parent Trap, the Lindsay before the Rachel Zoeification, shredded leggings, faux lesbianism and inablity to realize that anyone can actually see the things she’s tweeting. She used to be so shiny and talented and normal. I always hoped she’d overcome the fact that she has the worst mother in the world and win an Oscar nad wear a size eight dress to accept it and keep her red hair and BRING PEACE TO THE WORLD. Or at least not succumb to the whole blonde, vapid, coked up not ever eating a sandwich thing that’s the current trend in Hollywood. So yeah, sad.
But mostly I watch this movie over and over because I am this movie. And every woman I know is this movie. We keep perpetuating the same crimes against each other, and it’s wearisome.
I’ve been a victim of mean girls. I remember the acute pain I felt in 7th grade when all of a sudden, the friends I had since 4th grade told me on the first day of school that I couldn’t sit at their lunch table. I didn’t understand why. I still don’t. Maybe it was my big feet or my glasses. They just arbitrarily cut me out of their circle, and now, 20 plus years later, when they try to become my facebook friend, I reject them.
Through high school and college, which included a stint as sorority president (and it is every bit what you think it is) I experienced both sides of the Mean Girl phenomenon. It’s made me wonder if the whole reason we’re so mean to each other is because we’re mean to each other. I know in my case, in many instances, being awful was a first strike to avoid someone doing something awful to me. The cycle perpetuates itself, creating Queen Bees and followers and boyfriend stealers and bitches and sluts and whores and cougars and pumas and lots and lots of psychological damage and hurt feelings. And when this is the norm, when we’re terrible to each other because others were terrible to us, how does it ever stop? Being horrible to someone else won’t make you feel any better about yourself, this is for sure.
Thankfully, I have cultivated some outstanding friendships now as an adult that have no trace of this awful mess, but it took some doing. It was not easy for me to trust these ladies. For quite a while, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept wondering when things would go sour. But then…they didn’t. I’ve discovered that friendships with women who you really trust are irreplaceable. There is understanding and empathy that I’ve not found anywhere else, and I’m not entirely sure how I’ve survived without these things. We should all have these kind of friends – everyone needs friendships like this, not ones riddled with meanness and spite and ulterior motives. Ladies, we all deserve someone to go to for support and no judgment when we want to kill our husbands or our bras don’t fit properly or our kids won’t stop screaming or our boss is being an asshole. We need to let all the other shit go.
Because then we can all get together and eat crudite and swig vodka from the bottle and maybe scoop peanut butter from the jar with our fingers.
yes, for the most part i agree. although, i’ve been pretty lucky when it comes to female friends. not too much mean girl, or maybe i am just oblivious to most of it.