It’s a truth universally acknowledged that school photos are bad – really bad. So in today’s modern world of selfies and filters, it’s not surprising that a firm now offers to airbrush away imperfections and blemishes from these pictures. But would you retouch your mantlepiece marvels? We asked our readers to share with us their old school photos, and tell us what they mean to them now.
Timothy Li, 26, from London: This was taken after I cut a chunk out of my fringe in the middle of the night
I must have been around seven or eight when this photo was taken. I dreaded getting it done because a couple of weeks earlier I’d cut my own hair for some reason. I’d woken up in the middle of the night and noticed it was sticking up. Instead of going back to bed, I got out some bathroom scissors and – not even with the lights on – cut off the part of my hair that was out of place. I woke up the next morning and there was a huge gaping square block in the middle of my fringe. My mum sent me to the hairdressers to try and fix it (unsuccessfully) which is why there’s a ridiculous peak towards the middle of my fringe.
This photo reminds me of what it was like growing up and even the mindset I had at that time. As cliched as it might sound, I think of it as simpler, easier times when nothing was really important – except acne and not farting in front of the girl you liked in drama class (it happened). I was self-conscious then but not to the stage of wanting to airbrush a photo, it’s nice to look back on it with all the imperfections (many of which have now morphed into fully fledged defects).
Paul Tucker, 30, from London: In this picture, me and my friend are pretending to be siblings
In this photo my friend Will, on the right, and I were both around 15. One day we were walking down our school corridor and saw a queue of siblings lined up waiting to go into the school hall to get their photo taken. Will nipped off to the toilet to put his hair in pigtails , and we slipped into the queue and had our picture taken. Of course, we later got called to the deputy head’s office who would not entertain our claim that we were cousins and received our punishment.
In September this year Will got married, and the photo turned up as part of the best man’s speech given by his brother. This is the only school photo I still have a copy of, and it’s the only one my mum still has framed in her lounge. It’s possible that she’s never been more proud of me. Unlike most other school photos, this really caught my character at the time. It reminds me of the fun I used to have.
Caroline, 44, from Manchester: I still sometimes feel like the shy little girl in the picture
I was five and it was the first time I had a photo taken on my own, soon afterwards my brother started at the same school and we had to have a joint photo. It was taken in the school library. I can remember a teacher brushing my hair before the photo. I felt it was a very intimate thing to do, at that age only my mum had done that before.
I remember I wasn’t enjoying school very much. I was a summer baby and started at Christmas when everyone else had already made friends, and was very shy. I was also mercilessly bullied by a group of girls because they had long hair and my mum made me keep mine short. She thought it was chic and French-looking, but I just wanted to be like everyone else. The girls I was bullied by were very girly and targeted me.
This photo means a lot to me: it’s full of memories. I am wearing my favourite dress, which my mum made for me, and a brooch of a swan which I won at a fair – my first bit of jewellery. I was quite a tomboy, and was often mistaken for a boy, but this was the first time I felt quite feminine. It was a beautiful dress – my mum was very talented with a sewing machine. All the teachers and dinner ladies commented on it, and I felt very special for the first time since I started primary school. Obviously I’ve changed a lot since then, mainly due to life experiences that make you grow up (in my case, the early deaths of my parents). But, if I’m ever at a wedding, or an event when I don’t know anyone, I still feel like the little shy girl with the short hair in the picture.
Laura Kesseler, 28, from Bristol: ‘It’s perfect – that daydreamy gaze, the massive eye-bags, the chubby cheeks’
This is me aged 11, posing for my year 7 school photograph. When I look at it, it makes me think of Augustus Gloop or Bruce from Matilda: it looks like I was dreaming about chocolate. School wasn’t good or bad for me, it just happened. I was a bit of a double agent: I could hang out with pretty much anyone but never had a true solid pack of friends. I was never particularly good or bad at anything, I just sort of drifted through unnoticed. It was always like that, even when I was in primary school – I vividly remember being sick on the first day I had sandwiches for lunch instead of hot dinners. I was made to sit on the steps leading into the dining hall to finish my food once I felt better. Every single day after that I sat on those steps eating my lunch (of dry crackers) on my own for the rest of primary school – nobody ever told me I could go back to the seats, I think I must’ve been invisible and obviously quite shy.
This photo makes me smile because I look completely different. People are always surprised to see pictures of me at that age and I enjoy making them laugh. It’s perfect: that daydreamy gaze, the massive eye-bags, the chubby cheeks, the complete awkward stage of growing up that kids don’t seem to go through nowadays. It’s good to have imperfect childhood photos because we need the comic relief, the proof of the awkward stage that some of us didn’t even know we were going through. I definitely didn’t think I looked bad back then and I love that.
Joanne Baker, 47, from Guiseley: I had no confidence and felt others were better than me
This was taken when I was 16. I was rebelling a little as the uniform should have been white shirt and navy jumper. It was 1985 and crimping was all the rage, so I thought crimping my basin cut was a cool thing to do. At the time I thought I looked awful and given the chance would have PhotoShopped my hair. I also thought myself ugly. I’m so glad I didn’t get that opportunity to PhotoShop this image though as I was beautiful but just didn’t know it. I also like the hair, as it represents a time of experimenting with my appearance and trying to be cool and unconventional yet desperate to fit in.
School was on my list of least favourite experiences. I had no confidence and felt others were better than me. I left at 16 after failing most of my o’levels. I was bright and intelligent but off the radar as far as the teachers efforts were concerned. The lack of uniform speaks volumes to me. I look at this image with sadness: I wish I could put my arms around the girl in the picture and tell her everything will be fine. I see how beautiful I was now but I was blind to it back then.
Asher Baker, 27 from London: School life was onerous for me. It feels strange to look back on it now
That was a difficult year for my family and I. We lived in Bermondsey, south-east London, in an area recognised by police and authorities to be rife with racism. As a mixed-race child, I was often the target of verbal and physical abuse , resulting in a childhood spent mostly indoors, reading, writing poetry, playing video games and learning to cook.
School life was similarly onerous. Throughout year 4, our class were taught by a rapidly revolving door of supply teachers, leading to a disjointed curriculum and short, throwaway relationships with teachers. This culminated in my receiving a damning year 5 report and I was ultimately written off by the school after this, expected only to be able to get into sink secondary schools, live on sink estates, and remain a permanent statistic in the British underclass.
That was 20 years ago, and it feels more than strange to look back on it now. In the last two decades I have passed my driving test, bought a flat in London, achieved a 2:1 in History from Royal Holloway, and played gigs with my favourite bands. I have begun to accumulate the lines and wrinkles that come with age, alongside the resultant scars from inner-London youth violence. I may not be as fresh-faced as the child in that picture, but I’ll take the ravages of time with the feats I have achieved. Life is better now.
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