Jordache Jeans and Other Myths of Popularity

My middle-school-aged kids have almost everything I wished I’d had at their age. Mostly, I feel they have stability and support. I don’t know what I expected heading into this phase of parenthood. But I suppose I wanted them not to be asking themselves the same questions I did at their age: what makes the popular kids popular, why am I not good enough, and how do I fit in better?

Of course, we all yearn to fit in, but the question of popularity is one I wish nobody, especially my children, cared about.

I spent a great deal of my adolescence preoccupied and pseudo-obsessed with the popular kids. I just didn’t get what made them so cool. In fact, I found them incredibly uncool. And by that, I don’t mean I felt intellectually superior in any way. On the contrary. I questioned whether I was dumb. Or whether I was missing some secret language or password or code that I could earn by just studying the cool kids. So I studied them.

The cool kids thought I didn’t listen. I did. I listened when teams were chosen, and I was last. I listened when I gave book reports that I was passionate about and thought were deep and only made me weirder. I listened when they sang songs about my weird name and all the funny ways to pronounce it.

The exclusion was both overt and subtle at the same time. I became more determined than ever to figure out what it took to be popular.  

As far as I could tell, all the cool girls had Jordache jeans, Nike sneakers, and LeSportsac purses. That was literally all I could assess that they had in common. So I set out to acquire all of the above. I begged and pleaded with my limited family and their limited resources. By December, I had landed the Nikes and LeSportsac purse. And on Christmas Eve, my mom’s best friend graced me with the coup d’etat: JORDACHE JEANS.

I still cry thinking of that night and what those overpriced jeans represented to me: success, arrival, acceptance.

The first day back at school in January, I took my jacket off at my desk and stood to say the pledge of allegiance with what I felt was swagger. The moment of transformation. Of credibility. Behind my back, I heard familiar giggling. Then a whisper: “Look who’s wearing Jordache jeans. Too bad she’s got the wrong ones.” More giggles. I had the wrong pair of Jordache jeans. The insignia on the pocket was not the horse; it was a loop…how could I have missed that?!? And worse, I’d made a blatant attempt to fit in, and I STILL didn’t.  

I knew, right then and there, hand on heart, that I would never attempt to be popular or understand popularity again.  

Within a matter of weeks, everyone seemed to switch from Jordache to Sergio Valente and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. To this day, I take some measure of pride in being perhaps the opposite of a trend-setter. I was an eighties trend-ender. I like to think I made Jordache jeans jump the shark. That takes a real swagger.

What I learned during that pledge of allegiance, with my new Jordache jeans on full, apparently inadequate display, is that there is absolutely no logic or understanding when it comes to what makes the popular crowd popular. So when my kids ask me the question I wracked my soul over for so many years, I answer honestly: “I have no idea.” But I do know it doesn’t have anything to do with you, your jeans or common sense.  

When we ask what makes the popular kids popular, what we really mean is, “What’s wrong with me?” The answer is absolutely nothing. Those who ask this question early are destined to change the world. One pair of Jordache jeans at a time. And it’s nice to see the Nikes hanging in there. Also, I still have multiple LeSportsacs. The classics are always cool.