By Ali Swee
So long, Livestrong. The 2004 trend may have come and gone faster than Britney’s first marriage, but silicone is back for summer 2010.
Silly Bandz: Love them, hate them, covet them. According to an April 16 article in The New York Times, they first gained popularity in Birmingham, Ala. The trend slowly spread up the East Coast into New York and of course, the Jersey Shore. By May, the wristbands that always revert to their original shape, had reached the Midwest.
Strolling into any Flint Hills Publication Workshop classroom gives a glimpse of a dynamic group of students from 12 states, all with their own fashion, journalistic and Silly Bandz styles.
Princesses. Crowns. Glow in the dark stars. Hearts. Dolphins. Elephants. Cars. Tie-Dye Clouds. Dinosaurs. Every Silly Bandz has a meaning, a personality in itself.
Silly Bandz evoke emotions that older campers haven’t felt since their passion for trends such as Jelly shoes, Pokemon Cards, Furbys, Crocs and gauchos. Camper’s eyes glimmer with excitement when the words Silly Bandz are mentioned. There’s joy in ripping off a Silly Bandz and watching its shape form before your eyes. Classic.
Wearing one gains you a little respect. Two is fashionably subtle. Three marks you eligible to join the late-night Silly Bandz black market trades. Anyone wearing five or more Silly Bandz is automatically accepted at any lunch table and is considered a “goddess” (or “god” for the male Silly Bandz fans).
Just ask any Silly Bandz lover, “What Silly Bandz do you own?” And watch for the fireworks.
“I have so many, But I’ll just show the best ones,” Brooke Urzendowski, a newspaper student at Marian High School, exclaimed. She enthusiastically pulls the bands off her arm, dropping them onto the table, allowing them to fulfill their true shapes.
She stops and pulls off the last one. With a sober glance, she reveals its shape. Gasps erupt. It’s a recycling sign.
“This one,” she smiles, “is my favorite.”
Some students find the trend better done in bulk, while others chose a more modest route. Liz Prosser, a newspaper student at Marian High School, only wears one Silly band. Simple, yet classy.
But don’t worry, guys, you can embrace the Silly Bandz trend too. It’s a trend that welcomes all, discriminates none. In fact, many Silly Bandz are made gender-neutral. Jimmy Langton, a newspaper student at Shawnee Mission South High School, wears his orange cowboy (on a horse), with pride.
However, there comes a day in every camper’s life when clouds form, thunder shatters and a gloom casts itself over the neon rainbow of happiness Silly Bandz construe.
While in the rolling Flint Hills of Kansas, Katie Mahoney, a newspaper student at Notre Dame de Sion High School, explains her signature Silly Band is a pig. The pig, which is ironically a creamy sky blue color, stretches across her wrist.
“I will never take my pig bracelet off!” Mahoney said, expressing her passion for Silly Bandz.
Snapping, the blue bracelet swung airborne and plummeted onto the ground, landing in a pathetic, broken heap.
Eyes widened. Mouths fell ajar. Another Silly band dead and gone.
Fast forward three months, when a trend will fade into a fad. The joy the plastic bag containing 12 silicone bands once brought dissipates. Abandoned Silly Bandz line the street. Falling into the ashes of once-loved toys and etched into the hearts of teenagers forever.
Ali Swee is a junior at Notre Dame de Sion and a student in the advanced writing class at the Flint Hills Publication Workshop.
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