Words: Fiona Sturges
Image: TIS

School uniform sucks – or that was the mantra when I was a kid. It still is among the poor sods that have to wear it now. Every year I have the same desperate tussle with my seven-year-old over the clodhopping black shoes that she’d rather were trainers, the dreary grey skirts and trousers, and the regulation tops stamped with the school insignia that are supposed to give her a sense of oneness with her fellow pupils. Oneness comes from mutual respect and shared values, not scuffed shoes and a crappy old sweatshirt. I feel her pain.

The list of uniform at the girls’ convent school that I attended was long and baffling. The nuns would never have accepted copycat versions peddled in the high street, not least because back then there weren’t any. This was because there was no uniform like ours. To my knowledge, we were the only schoolgirls in the land that, along with the regulation black gloves, burgundy tunics and ties, stiff-collared beige shirts and blazers, had to wear mantillas – black triangles of lace that were pinned to the hair – whenever we were required to pray. And we did a lot of praying.

It wasn’t just that we looked awful. School clothes were, to our mind, part of the broader conspiracy amongst adults to muffle us and make us conform. They were there to iron out any droplets of personality and assertiveness that we might be developing. No, school uniforms weren’t for me. Wearing them was nothing short of a curse. No daughter of mine will ever have to deal with this nonsense, I told myself.

Well that was then and this is now, and I’ve changed my mind. There’s no doubting that wearing school uniform brings my child no pleasure. But that’s small potatoes next to the uncertainty, the grim self-consciousness and competitiveness of having to wear her own clothes.

While there is no firm evidence to suggest that a school with a strict uniform code produces happier children, anecdotal evidence from the parents of kids who don’t wear it yields tales of early-morning sartorial battles, pleading for the latest gear sported by the popular kids and snide remarks in the playground when a child turns up in last year’s shoes.

It used to be that young girls were neither fashion conscious nor concerned about their figures until they were deep into their teens, but now there is evidence that younger children are increasingly uneasy about their appearance, with one in five girls of primary school age claiming they have been on a diet.

Earlier this year Girlguiding UK launched a “body confidence” badge in response to what they say is a crisis in how young girls see themselves. The idea is that specific courses in which body image and beauty myths are discussed will help boost their confidence.

It’s a noble plan but, short of going off-grid and cutting off all ties with the human race, nothing can prevent young children from absorbing and being influenced by the images of unreachable feminine perfection distributed by everyone from toy manufacturers and fashion outlets to magazines, TV shows and films.

Not long ago, while my daughter was playing with a group of girls at a friend’s house, I overheard one of them prancing about in front of the mirror and wondering aloud if she looked fat. It was just role-play, an imitation of something seen on television or said by a parent, but it was chilling to hear, an unsettling fantasy of future anxiety. While weight may be a deeper and potentially more painful issue than what clothes to put on, both are part and parcel of a person’s broader sense of self-worth and identity.

There is, of course, another problem inherent in school uniforms, and that is how they have become the default sexual fantasy for men who should – and do – know better. Tales were rife at my convent school about young girls being harassed and propositioned by men while in school attire. While some pupils were inevitably thrilled by this, more were discomforted and sometimes frightened.

Nowadays, sexy schoolgirl chic is ubiquitous, whether on clothing ads or pop videos or “jailbait” pornographic websites. Looking at the testimonies and statistics regarding school-age girls by Laura Bates’ Everyday Sexism project, it’s clear that the sexual harassment of children rarely stops.

Is this a reason to dispense with uniform altogether? Of course not. The problem lies with a small proportion of men and their base impulses, not the clothes, nor the frightened young girls unwillingly stoking their imaginations.

For those who must wear it, school uniform may be a massive buzzkill but ultimately it serves as a form of protection, both from their own insecurities and those of their peers. It brings a sense of equality in the playground that, however false in real life, creates greater harmony. It allows children to stay children that little bit longer.

@FionaSturges