It’s December and the high street is lavishly decorated with festive lights and Christmas trees. The shop window displays feature Santa outfits, snowflakes, reindeer, elves, candy canes and gift boxes and all sorts of festive décor. Mark is shopping with his mother who frequently comments on the outfits in the shop windows. “I wish they had things like that when you were little.” she said, admiring a display of Santa’s Little Helper outfits on some boy mannequins in the window of Debenhams. Mark said they did but they were for girls. “Not many girls wore dresses when you were little.” she reminded him. “I wonder if they do them for older boys.” she mused.
“I’m not going to dress like Santa’s Little Helper mum!” Mark whined. “I’m fifteen.” he reminded her. The mannequins, depicting boys aged about eight or nine wore an elf themed red and green frocks with red & green stripy tights and a stupid looking hat with bells. Another wore a pair of green dungaree shorts with a red blouse and lace collar, with the same stripy tights, and the third wore a bright red Santa dress with fur around its hems and plain white tights. They’re OK for little kids, Mark thinks, but teenagers don’t do fancy dress if they can help it.
Inside one of the stores, his mother points out a sweatshirt with ‘Just a Boy’ embroidered in a graffiti style font on the front. His mother says it’s nice. “It’s horrible.” Mark whined. The sweatshirt is white but the design is in purple and lilac and the ‘o’ of boy is a heart shape. His mother says it’s ‘sweet’ and Mark reminds her that he’s fifteen and far too old for clothes like that. His mother points out a padded down jacket. “That looks nice and warm.” she said. It might look warm, Mark thought, but that shade of pastel purple is far too nice, and the fake fur around it’s hood is the palest pink. Mark doesn’t like it.
His mother picked up a hat, gloves and scarf set. Pink, lilac and baby blue stripes shouldn’t belong in the teen boys department but they do.“This is cute.” his mother smiled. That’s exactly what’s so bad about it, Mark thought. Too many boys clothes these days are cute and strolling the boys department with his mother is always embarrassing, especially when she insists on just looking at the limited selection of skirts and frocks that seem to have been commonplace for a few years now. Thankfully there’s still plenty of traditional boys clothes and Mark’s mother knows what he prefers, but she always describes them as plain and boring when buying him something that he likes. “We may as well get you some undies whilst we’re here.” she said.
“OK.” Mark apathetically replied. “Just don’t get me any more nice ones… I’ve got loads already.”
The problem is, his mother likes nice underpants and since no one else will see them, she pays little heed to his preferences. She always picks him a pack with lacy elastic and pastel shades or pretty patterns and despite the fact he doesn’t like them, he wears them. “OK.” he moaned when she chose him a pack of five spotty pairs of ‘boys panties’. “Will you unpick the bows though.” he timidly requested. His mother sighed and told him that unpicking the little satin bows from the waistband was too much faff for something no one will see. “But they’re high waisted.” he whined.
“It is winter though… big pants are warmer than little ones.” his mother reminded. “Just keep your vest tucked in.” she told him as she removed the matching pack of boys vests which also have elasticated lace trim. They slowly stroll toward the tills and his mother frequently stops to look at various items; a long nightie, a floral pyjama set and a fluffy pink bathrobe… all in the boy’s department.
With Christmas fast approaching, the queue for the tills is long and slow. Mark holds his plain beige jumper, a plain brown body-warmer and conceals his ‘nice’ underwear beneath them. In front of them is a boy aged about twelve with his parents. His mother holds a powder pink corduroy dungaree dress and a burgundy blouse on a hanger. The boy is sulking and his father explains that he’s still a child and to a certain extent, has to wear what he’s told. The mother turns to her son and says. “It’s hardly your first dress Charles and with some nice thick tights you’ll be plenty warm enough.”
“Poor kid.” Mark thought. “If I was his age my Mum’d probably be foisting frocks onto me.” he mused. Being fifteen going on sixteen, Mark’s own mother lets him choose his own clothes for the most part… although she did buy him a skirt once.
He’s an average teenage boy in his final year of high school and like most boys his age, he faces few prospects when he does leave school. Mark will probably end up in college for a couple of years earning a menial qualification that’ll get him a job as a cleaner, sweeper or dishwasher. Girls have better prospects and apart from a few exceptions, they exclusively sit GCSE and A level exams and go onto university. Mark doesn’t feel hard done by. It’s just the way things are. Women wear the trousers, sit in the boardrooms and fill the majority of seats in the House of Commons these days.