Leaving the comfort of elementary school, where I spent six years building friendships and navigating familiar hallways, middle school felt like a mix of anxiety and excitement. I was ready to grow up—or so I thought.

The summer before sixth grade, I wasn’t too concerned about friendships. Toward the end of elementary school, my friendships weren’t as strong, and I was okay being a bit of a loner. I was excited to meet new people and, most importantly, to wear a uniform. No more worrying about trendy clothes or cool outfits—just a simple uniform to level the playing field.

My mom bought me a few pieces: two skirts (navy and black), two khaki pants, and four shirts (two white, two red). They came from the uniform shop, so they were pricey. I was under strict instructions to take them off as soon as I got home to keep them clean for the week. In my mind, I pictured a private school movie uniform look. I imagined blending in, no cool kids with cool clothes—we’d all be equal.

Oh, how wrong I was.

The First Day: Reality Check

Walking through the halls on my first day, I quickly realized the "uniforms" weren’t so uniform. Sure, we all had the same colors, but kids could buy their pieces from anywhere, and most of them weren’t stuck with the thick, dorky material from the uniform shop like me. My skirt screamed "official uniform store," and my excitement faded quickly.

By lunchtime, I was just trying to survive the day. I rushed to the cafeteria before the doors even opened, hoping to avoid the crowds. When the doors finally opened, I grabbed my food, ready to find a quiet spot. But as I passed a group of boys I’d waited outside with, one of them looked directly at me and shouted, “Shave your legs, wolf girl!”

It hit me like a ton of bricks. There wasn’t another girl around. He was talking about me—the wolf girl in her uniform shop skirt and unshaven legs.

From Skirts to Pants

I didn’t sit in the cafeteria that day. I ran outside, found a tree far from everyone, and tried to hide my legs as I ate. That comment shattered my confidence. In elementary school, no one cared about hairy legs. We cared about PE, recess, and who could run the fastest. Now, I was suddenly self-conscious in a way I had never been before.

When I got home, I made a decision: no more skirts. Shaving wasn’t an option—my mom wouldn’t allow it, and I didn’t have access to a razor. So, it was pants every day for the rest of the year. I washed my khaki pants so often that by the end of the year, they had faded to white.

Years later, I told this story to a friend, and she laughed, “No wonder you always had white pants! I remember you because of them.”

Hugging My Sixth-Grade Self

Looking back, I wish I could hug that sixth-grade girl so tight and tell her not to care about what those mean boys thought. I was young, innocent, and didn’t need to be self-conscious about something so small. I should have worn those skirts with pride and embraced the carefree years of youth.

The Return of Wolf Girl

While digging through old projects recently, I came across a cartoon I drew years ago—a funny little character I created based on that experience. She became a sort of mascot for me over the years, and I decided to give her a new look. So here she is, embracing her hairy legs, loud and proud.

Sometimes, the moments that feel like the end of the world are the ones we laugh about later. And sometimes, they become art.