In answer to my father’s “What are you two doing upstairs?”
(Simultaneously, my sister and I had the experience-based intuition that accurate replies—“Reading Vogue,” “Pretending to be Vogue reporters covering catwalk shows,” or “Designing and sewing gowns to photograph for Vogue-like Polaroid photo spreads”—would have adverse consequences.)
So begins “Fifteen,” an essay that came to mind a few months ago when I was thinking about how often I lied way back when I was a teenager. And why.
Plenitude Magazine offered to published the essay and I’m grateful for its editorial readers for selecting it. (The rest can be found here.)