Growing up in the 90s

I was born at the start of the 1980s. A pint of milk cost 18½p, a loaf of bread was 35½p, and a litre of petrol was 35p. The halfpenny was still in circulation, shoulder pads were somehow fashionable, and mobile phones looked more like bricks than communication devices.

Childhood meant being outdoors until the streetlights came on, making up games with your friends, and never hearing the phrase "screen time".

By the time the 90s arrived, the world was changing fast. Britpop was everywhere, dial-up internet and Sky TV were making their way into people’s homes, and MTV was introducing us to music and cultures from around the world. For many people, the 90s were all about fitting in, following trends, and finding their place.

For me, it was the decade I realised I didn’t actually want to fit in at all!

My background in music is two parents who had their formative years in the 60s and 70s. Our home was always blasting out an eclectic mix of Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Don McLean, Led Zeppelin, Leonard Cohen, Free, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, Bread, and much more. I grew up with music — my name is music, and I have always had an affinity with music. I love music based on my mood; sometimes I need it loud and angry, sometimes soft and emotional. It is one powerful way that I learnt to express myself.

Growing up with those legends blasting through the stereo helped to expand my tastes and knowledge of music. I would sit there for hours playing my parents’ vinyl records and creating my own mixed tapes; the original Spotify playlists!

By the time the 90s hit, music was evolving again. But while Britpop dominated the charts, my tastes wandered much further. One minute I was listening to Blur and Pulp, the next it was Nirvana, Blondie, Rancid, or The Offspring.

I always felt like an outsider looking in. I was very popular at school, and I had also learned at a young age how to mask myself. Looking back, I realise I had already become an expert at masking. I could move between friendship groups effortlessly: the popular crowd, the sensible crowd, the weirdos, and everyone in between. The autism and ADHD diagnosis wouldn't come for another 30 years, but the signs were already there.

I had my first pair of black DM’s by age 12, which I was so obsessed with. By the age of 14½, I had an undercut, three piercings in each ear, and my friends and I pierced our own ear — today it is called a helix. I still have a bump today where the cartilage was pushed through, and it hurt like hell. I had my nose pierced twice at 15, followed by my belly button, and I began experimenting with liquid black eyeliner. Man, that stuff was amazing!

My GCSEs arrived, and I was already dreaming of my next haircut. On the last day of the exams, I got drunk with my friends at the pub and proceeded to shave the top of my hair with a Bic razor — not exactly the best move ever — and I dyed my hair pillar-box red with Directions. I woke the next day slightly delicate and realised I needed to see a hairdresser to sort my hair out better, haha.

I may add at this point that my parents were completely unimpressed with my appearance. My mum frequently informed me that I looked like a sieve thanks to all the piercings, while my dad would simply look at me, shake his head, and walk away. Looking back, I can't say I blame them. Between the bright red hair, stripy tights, ripped clothes, and ever-growing collection of piercings, I probably wasn't quite the daughter they'd imagined.

By the age of 16, I started going out with someone who lived in London and would spend weekends there. He was part of a scooter club, and suddenly I was submerged in an entirely different world, and yet it all felt right. He was mad on psychobilly music, and to be fair I really enjoyed a lot of it — bands like King Kurt, The Meteors, The Kremen, Nekromantix, Demented Are Go, Empress of Fur, Long Tall Texans, The Tall Boys, and much more.

I grew out my epic fail hairstyle so that I could have a bright pink flat top with a ponytail at the back. I was already bleaching my jeans and ripping them, wearing stripy tights underneath, and ripping sleeves off my T-shirts. I would go on scooter rallies with my boyfriend and made so many acquaintances, many of whom I still keep in touch with today.

Enter Northern Soul, Ska and skinhead music like Cock Sparrer, Cockney Rejects and Bad Manners. My music taste was expanding, and I was literally falling in love with song after song.

Northern Soul was, and still is, very popular in the scooter scene, and it took the energy of American soul music and turned it into something built for dancing. The songs were usually faster, with a driving four-on-the-floor beat that could keep dance floors moving all night long. I would stand on the sidelines watching hundreds of people doing an extremely distinctive dance with no name, commonly known as Northern Soul dancing. They would glide across the floor, spin, and move to the beat. Watching so many do it at the same time was honestly mesmerising, and I desperately wanted to take part.

And I had now got bored of my flat top, so I decided it was time for a feather cut. I had become very adept at shaving my own head, so initially I had it with a bright red fringe, shaved all on top, with small “feather” sideboards that needed to grow and match the fringe, and a small feather of hair at the back.

I swapped my ripped bleached jeans for Levi 501s, my ripped punk T-shirts for Fred Perry T-shirts and Ben Sherman shirts, bought red braces, and inherited a pair of oxblood DMs that were already 17 years old at the time. I still have them today.

I met my beautiful Italian friend, my scooter club mummy, and we hit Camden Market. She found me a second-hand tonic suit and some brand-new oxblood DM Loake to wear for a wedding we were all attending.  This period of my life was where I was really beginning to feel comfortable in my own skin.

Looking back now, I can see I wasn’t just changing my clothes, my hair or my music taste; I was finding myself in pieces. Every scene, every group, every sound gave me something I didn’t know I was missing.

I didn’t fit into one world, and for a long time I thought that was a flaw. Now I realise it was the point.

The alternative scene wasn’t just a phase for me; it was the first place I felt like I could exist without explaining myself.