Riding high
Edition 35: Reflections on female friendship
AJ Lee’s end of high school Year Book entry, including all contemporaneous typos and embarrassing turns of phrase (image courtesy of AJ Lee)
In my mid-teens I took quite a few drugs. (Apologies to my parents reading this: Yes, I know you suspected; and, No, we don’t have to discuss it next time we Facetime over breakfast.) It was the ‘90s — the height of E culture, squat parties and dummies worn as jewelry. My experience was a little less wild than that suggests: more middle class house parties than illegal raves. But the high was just as high. A sweet nothingness for a chemical half hour, hours if you were lucky, when no worries could invade your thoughts and you felt safe, rocking gently with a cigarette in one hand, on your protected cloud aka some random patch of ground in Oxford city center.
It now seems no coincidence to me that this period of experimentation happened at the time when my life was most saturated with pure, heady female friendship. We were a gang: bonded by years of shared jokes, notes passed in class, embarrassing old photos stashed in shoe boxes, secret gossip and the humiliations of puberty. Plus, I went to an all girls school so we spent a lot of time together. Of course, I also had friends who were boys and I fancied the less washed sex something chronic; but those feelings paled into insignificance alongside the towering presence of my girl friends. Our friendship was itself an impenetrable high, transcending the tawdry individual experience of being a single spotty teenager, moving us as one in matching outfits towards some future we couldn’t quite conceive.
With my group of girls around me, I was able to take on the world as we knew it. We had our own language, rituals and hierarchy. Everyone had a role to play — the sarcastic one, the sexy one, the conscientious one, the neurotic one, the clever one — like the Spice Girls with less glamor and more nuance. When my father did his monthly review of the phone bill (remember them?), my friends’ numbers dominated the list as we spent at least an hour on the phone each night after six hours together at school. Every weekend, we got ready for Saturday night at each other’s houses, make up and outfits strewn across the floor, hair straighteners burning a hole in the carpet, Les Miserables blasting from a CD player, while we stuffed our tiny handbags with lighters, lip gloss and cash for the bus home. Every Monday, we sat in our classroom unpacking who kissed whom, what lessons we hated most (French) and what it all meant for the state of the universe.
AJ Lee (with a terrible hair cut) and friends on the last day of high school (image courtesy of AJ Lee)
Like many girls, I was at one time part of an exclusive friendship duo. We had matching mood rings, went on holidays together and everyone knew we were each other’s person. But it ended badly: after many years of dogged loyalty I pushed her away. She was perfect looking, smart, popular, the full package. I was “and this is my best friend Amy.” Perhaps as the beta friend I needed to rebel to feel like I knew myself better? The fall out dragged on for months — side eye, tears, huddled conversations, concerned parental telephone calls. To this day, it is the worst break up I’ve ever gone through; the only one I still think about with questions and regret.
There are many myths about female friendships: we are all bitches, being the most prominent. Heathers was (is) an iconic movie growing up, cementing the snobby school girl clique as villains. Currently, there seems to be a proliferation of articles by women about how to exit “bad” friendships. And it’s true that we have power over each other that we don’t always wield for good. Even now, as a perpetually tired 42 year old mom with little mental space for drama, how my female friends act towards me will have the most impact on how I feel at any event. Did I feel included? Why didn’t I understand that reference they were making? Was I wearing the right thing? It’s slightly nauseating to admit at this age but it’s the truth, and I’m not the only one. I recently comforted another woman in her 40s after an attempt to heal some wounds in an old friendship ended, literally, in tears.
But this is what female friendship is about. We don’t want restraint. We love openly and enthusiastically. We text “thank god for you ” after a low key mid-week dinner together. We admire each other’s eyebrows / bums / arms / selves in a way that might feel weird from someone else. We hug a little longer when we sense a frown under smiles. We send OMG fire emojis in response to a selfie of a new item of clothing (or increasingly, a new plant for the yard). We tell each other that “you’re amazing” not as a platitude but because we truly can’t believe the resilience of women and the strength we get from them. Each interaction is a little buzz of endorphins.
AJ Lee with three of her lifelong friends, taken in their 20s (image courtesy of AJ Lee)
And with this beautiful smooth we take the rough. The feeling of despondency when warmth wains for some reason. The FOMO when you realize you didn’t get an invite to that night out. The unease when two friends become closer than you are to them. The hurt when words are spoken out of turn. Because of course the intoxication of female friendship, in all its vulnerability and effusiveness, comes with risk, risk that it won’t always be peachy; the friendship come down, if you like. But that edge is worth it and necessary — for what we seek from each other is a relationship, not a boundary-heavy drinks buddy.
My littlest just turned 6 years old and she adores her friends. They hug and kiss and make each other colorful notes saying ‘I love you’; and hang on to each other at the end of playdates like they are being ripped from their soulmate. I know she has many ups and downs with those friends ahead of her. I wish I could protect her from the days when she will feel excluded by the crowd or ignored by her bestie as part of a complex power struggle. But to do so would be to shield her from the sparkling heights of those friendships — the tingle in your belly when your friend throws you a look of unabashed affection, the inner peace of laughing among women you’ve peed in front of, and the security of being pulled close by a best friend who, rightly or wrongly, wants to possess you as their own. You can’t have the highs without the lows.
I’m too risk averse these days to indulge in illegal highs, but I will never be too old for the friendship rollercoaster. Thank you to all my girl friends — past, present, forever — for the ride.
For those in the Hudson Valley, Ravenwood is now open for the season! Head over there this weekend for amazing produce, delicious food, and beautiful artwork by the likes of local artist Caroline Burdett.
Love you and miss you most of the time!!