We live in a a world where teenage girls are thin and wear baggy tops like second skins draping, shedding from their frail bodies and they were glasses frames on their faces with no lenses – why? Because glasses are cool. Because being a ‘nerd’, being a ‘geek’, is cool on the outside but shunned – oh, so deeply, meanly, coldly shunned on the inside. For being cool is an idea. An idea you can wear on your body and your head and your face and you can strut around town sashaying, assassinating boys and sexy girls with your looks – those chilling, vapid looks that say nothing except, “This is the part of me you can see, the part of me that’s cool, the part of me that means something to somebody”. There has to be more to life than this. There has to be more to life than sitting in your house watching TV and wishing so badly, too badly, you could be like them– the unattainable ‘them’ who you think are attainable, because that’s what some invisible man wearing a suit and tie will tell you, but he doesn’t know you! He doesn’t know about the times you scraped your tender little white girl knees learning to ride a bike on the tarmac, determined but scared and finally you felt that coveted rite of passage feeling of soaring down the pavement on your pink two-wheeler for the very first time, vindicated. He doesn’t know you were the best at math in the third grade and in the seventh grade you were failing tests because you thought, “math is for boys”. He doesn’t know that you could barely run three laps around a small gym. He doesn’t know you sat there in school wishing you could disappear and nobody would ever notice you were gone. He doesn’t know your private world of the written word and world maps marked with places you can’t wait to go, in your mind, in the car, on a plane. But he’s sitting there making all your decisions about how you define yourself. And what does he know, anyway?