Contemplation on Passers By

You know, I was just thinking.
I mentioned in yesterday's blog post about a group of intimidating five girls. About my age. 13 year olds. You know, it was actually quite scary how they all looked completely the same. Three with honey-brown hair, one with blondish-brown hair, one with black hair, kind of different lengths, but all layered exactly the same way, and there was no way of distinguishing them by their style. They were all skinny jeans, ugg boots, dolly shoes, hoodies, jackets, tops. There was no unique element about them at all. They were all like cruelly made clones of one another, giggling empty, hollow laughs and having shallow, meaningless conversations, degrading others and being disagreeable.

And I found myself thinking, so this is what the privileged few look like.
You know who I'm talking about. The popular, the so-called pretty, the ones who get all the boys.
I so yearn to be like them half the time, but I don't want to grow up being a clone. I want to stand out somewhat, I want to be unique. Not just in style, but also in thought and mind and character. I want to make heads turn, and not at how much I fit in, but at how much I stand out.

My feelings were highlighted that day as , when we left Primark, we passed a group of four young women, in their twenties or so. They were shockingly daring in their style, and so utterly perfect. They were beautiful. I was drooling as they walked passed confidently, thin and tall, heads in the air. They were the gods and we were the immortals, and they knew it. One of them stood out particularly, she had gorgeous blonde hair cut daringly short, flicking jaggedly in her face, her thinness would have looked ugly on anyone else but she just looked elegant in this beautiful blue floaty dress, strapless, and shapeless, but not too baggy. She was perfect.

And that got me thinking again. But I don't want to be this kind of unique either. I don't want to be so arrogant and aware of my beauty that I make people feel uncomfortable in themselves. That made me recall the Sunday out with Robin and his mother. On our way in the High Street, some extraordinarily beautiful people crossed the road, and walked in front of us for some time. I think they were foreign - French or German. There was a couple, and another woman. I still remember how they looked. The single woman was very tall, slim but with sufficient assets, a honey tan, short layered blonde hair. She had on bright red shorts and a red and white checkered top with a tie that tied above her navel. The shorts matched some painfully high red heels that she strode in without difficulty. She wore a pair of dark sunglasses that she kept lifting over her eyes and down. The couple: The man was stylishly casual, and fully aware that he was walking with the most glamourous women on the street. His partner was more subtle than the other woman, but completely elegant. She had long, beige-blonde hair in layers down her back, that completely matched her beige nylon tight fitting top, and her beige leather mini skirt, and beige high-heeled shoes.
Anyway, the minute they saw us, they looked at us like they were insects, and they seemed so aware of the fact that we were apparently dowdy/ugly and they were beautiful/stylish.
In brief, they made me feel like dirt.

So, I don't want to be a conforming clone. But I dont want to be a cruel individual, either.

How can that work?