My Spotify is my most honest form of social media. Instagram is a polished, posed image of my hilarious, cool, city girl life. Twitter is a library of my never-ending witty refrains, dry remarks, and pop culture commentary. LinkedIn is for the employers that don’t want to hire freshmen, and for the scammers who bug me to fill out a survey for a gift card.
My Spotify is just for me. Every month, I make a playlist about the mood I am in – last October, during college application season, the vibe was frantic and depressing. This past August, right before I left for Stanford, was pure nostalgia. Every December, at least three Christmas songs make the cut.
Seventh grade. Saturday night, six p.m. I carefully apply lip gloss, smooth over my hair still damp from my post-ballet shower and squeeze my feet into $20 black H&M heels. My friends zip up each other’s dresses, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over our excellent choices. We’re getting ready for another bat mitzvah.
As someone who grew up in New York City and went to a predominantly Jewish school, bar/bat mitzvah season was a rite of passage during seventh grade. Bar/bat mitzvahs are traditionally celebrations of a Jewish 13-year-old becoming an adult – they learn a Torah portion, finally make use of the years spent in Hebrew school and perform a good deed (a mitzvah) that gives back to their community. But the more central event for their friends is the celebratory party thrown in their honor after the religious service. Kids go crazy – from themes to competitions to monogrammed hoodies.
For the three “couples” in our grade, these functions were date night. For me, it was free dinner, a space to go out and dance with my pals and hopefully score some personalized merchandise, usually with classmates’ names on them. These bar/bat mitzvahs were my first exposure to the music “of my time.” I would stress about not knowing the lyrics to Shawn Mendes, carefully memorizing a chorus or two before every weekend. My friends, luckily, were not so culturally removed – with their extensive YouTube search history, they knew basically every song on the need-to-know list. So, to make up for my middle school deficit, I’ve made this playlist (which I now know every lyric to).
My friends from those days taught me a lot. We went to Sephora for the first time together on a long weekend, where I bought the cheapest eyeshadow palette possible (Sephora brand for $15.99). We tried face masks, hoping they’d magically disappear our newly blossoming pimples. We watched Call Me by Your Name at our British friend’s house (her European mother wouldn’t check the rating) and cried together. When I scroll on TikTok and see 12 year olds applying retinol or giving an H&M haul, I thank my parents for refusing me social media in middle school and reflect fondly on what a privilege it was to be embarrassing.
I still think about those days of girlhood. I came across a few videos last week, where my friends and I were getting ready for a winter bar mitzvah and doing a Secret Santa exchange the same night (the religious irony is clear to me, too). The girl singing along to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” with me is still my best friend. I woke up early in the morning yesterday to call her (East to West Coast relationships are not for the weak), and when we launched into our “remember when…” segment of the conversation, I’m consistently horrified by my preteen behavior and amazed at how far I’ve come. Why did I smile like that in photos? How did I think that joke was funny? Then again, I’m sure the brothers at KSig are bored of my bits too. Maybe not that much has changed.
We’re often told to savor our childhood. No one gets the phrase until it’s too late, of course – we long for nap-time or snacks between meals only when they’re gone. Of course I miss those days (who doesn’t?), but I’ve grown more and more appreciative of the freedom I was given to figure myself out on my own time, to embarrass myself and to learn from my mistakes. Middle school was scary, don’t get me wrong, but my biggest fear back then was saying something stupid in class. I know I’m lucky. A lot of kids my age didn’t get the childhood I had – lockdown drills were only ever practice, I never worried about my next meal, education was abundant and unlimited. The girl who got me for Secret Santa in the video has a little sister in fifth grade now. She’ll be going to bar and bat mitzvahs in a few years too, and I hope she gets to fuss over her hair and her outfit like we did. But that self-centered charm of childhood is dissipating with the pressure to grow up and the fear that if we don’t, we risk our safety or future. Every time I open the news, there’s another piece about education policy – colleges being defunded, critical race theory outlawed, books banned. Students are rallying in protest, but they shouldn’t have to. They deserve to dodge responsibility and simply worry about the day-to-day, at least right now. The freedom I once had helped me grow into a person who can now fully contribute to the world I live in. What happens when kids don’t have a chance to be imperfect anymore?
My Secret Santa and duet partner are still my best friends. Another moved schools, but I see her when we’re both in the city. I had a falling out with the one behind the camera; we haven’t spoken more than a sentence to each other in over five years. In Ocean Vuong’s novel “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous,” he says, “I miss you more than I remember you.” The days of middle school cringe are (thankfully) hazy in my mind. But the good and bad of how those friendships made me feel is a memory engraved in my brain. I can’t tell if it’s them I miss or all the firsts we had together. I remember vaguely and I miss fondly. I never forgot the lyrics of those party songs.
What are you listening to?