‘Awkward’ as defined by my MacBook Pro’s trusty Mission Control dictionary: adjective—causing or feeling embarrassment or inconvenience; not smooth or graceful; uncomfortable or abnormal.
Yep, that pretty much does it.
Awkward phases—I like to think—are much like men: can’t live with ‘em; can’t live with out ‘em
Usually occurring between middle school and high school, the awkward phase is a necessity for any growing being.
I really should have seen it coming.
I was 12 years old, just out of my chubby phase, and to be honest, was practically akin to an anglerfish, perpetually trapped in the Mariana’s Trench of awkward.
Smack between the years of Limited Too, Delia’s, and the ever popular and slightly terrifying, Hollister, this was my time to shine
These were also the years of the “Bar Mitzvah Circuit” – a coveted span of a year or two when Jews ultimately reach their peak.
To be frank, I almost feel bad for those who were unfortunate enough to not go through an awkward phase.
Acne, uni-brows, man boobs, and glasses are character builders, dang it!
We grew, we experimented, and although we shudder at the sight of the 12-year-old version of ourselves, the awkward phase served as the formative year(s) in which we blossomed (or in my case, uncoordinatedly transformed) into who we are today.
We (or at least I) didn’t care if that tiered peasant skirt from American Eagle looked horrific!
Judy Blume was there to guide me through the years I spent exploring the dark corners of Hollister and I loved every minute of it.
One day when I have kids, I can only hope they have the most atrocious, repugnant awkward phases ever. Bring on the highly questionable style, raging hormones, and grossly unflattering haircuts!