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By Katie Phelan

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As the semester comes to an end, we decided to take a look back on our past successes and failures. We decided to dust off our old Facebook albums and see how far we have come since our high school days. To our horror, we found a huge misstep. As we clicked through our sUmMeR <3 2009 pictures, unfamiliar rag tag gals were tossing up Wu-Tang signs in a terrifying sepia sequence.

Spiked hair, studded belts, snug Tripp skinny jeans, heavy black eyeliner, fingerless gloves, Skelanimal

hoodies, animal print in unnatural colors and bows meant for two-year-old girls.

Yes, we were scene kids. Hot Topic posers wearing hard-ass clothes courtesy of Mom and Dad’s wallet.

But, we couldn’t remember that phase. Had we blocked it out like some repressed memory?

We popped open iTunes and deep within the playlists was a singular enormous file: xxxWARPEDTOURxxx.

Fall Out Boy, Metro Station, All Time Low, Cobra Starship and Panic! At the Disco were among our most

played tracks.

Curiosity compelled us to take a listen to what we once thought to be the music of our generation.

What were these electro pop beats and whiney, angsty singers bleating about being young forever and

dancing until your parents got home at 8 p.m.?

We suddenly found ourselves thrown in the mosh pit of nostalgia a.k.a. Warped Tour a.k.a. the Mecca

for scene kids a.k.a. the hottest hell hole to ever hit Comerica’s parking lot.

A mere seven seconds into our trip down memory lane, we could feel the panic that after all of the

dancing, sweating and head bobbing, our eyeliner had smudged, our liberty spikes began to wilt and our

skinny jeans began to stretch out. Because when you were a scene kid, all you had were your looks.

Looking back at it, attending this “music festival” for two consecutive years was a poor choice. Because

getting nearly kicked into comatose by a chunky teenager who decided that crowd surfing back to front

was a solid choice – which is never a solid choice.

After we smacked the laptop closed and cried in self-pity, it felt like a self-imposed intervention. But,

after the initial shock, we felt at ease. We forgave those little teeny-boppers because it was the past and

we were all just trying to fit in.

It’s now time for you to fess up. Admit it. If you weren’t a scene kid, you were probably a metal head, a

goth kid, a jock, a nerd, a prep or an outcast. And hey, it’s okay if you were a one-dimensional cliché in

high school, because we all were. But as with any problem, admitting it is the first step.

And after realization comes reconciliation. We can understand our past mistakes, and we’re able to move on

and truly grow into who we want to be.

But hey, if you still really want to keep your purple clip-in hair extensions and listen to “Niki FM” by

Hawthorne Heights, we promise not to tell.