You wanna be in our gang? Get a pompom
At school in America our correspondent hated the fake niceness of cheerleaders. Twenty years on she finds their British counterparts a welcome alternative to girl gangs with thuggish attitudes. By Michele Kirsch for The Times
PORING over my old 1979 New York High School yearbook, I turn to the cheerleading page and there is perfect Stacy Leder, head of the squad, her giraffe leg sticking out from her short skirt in a fake split, the other leg tucked up behind her, that genetically blessed cow with her gleaming, brace-free teeth, strawberry lip gloss, high cheekbones, that difficult haircut with Farrah Fawcett wings.
Then there was me, 5ft 4in, 95lb, no tits, Jewfro hair, orthodontically challenged, but I could do the splits, I could high-kick, I could do handstands and clamber to the top of a kneeling pyramid, and I was flexible to the point of sideshow material. But I didn’t make the squad because I looked about ten and was as sexy as some paper cups.
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