Georgia is my best friend from home. Our birthdays one month apart, we were even friends in utero before we were born. Our mums guzzled cake into their pregnant bellies, bitching together about the other housewives in the leafy suburb where we were raised. Describing herself as a ‘very standard’ southwest London girl, Georgia goes to a ‘proper’ uni where she studies far too many languages and has, in her words, a 'normal' life. I, in contrast, a would-be writer/artist who some might call a bit of a mess and who definitely doesn’t shower as much as I should, fall apparently somewhere on the other side of 'normal'.
During our hideously awkward phase as pre-teens (think breast buds and first pubes), Georgia was the girl who wasn’t allowed chunky Clarks or even pumps for school because her parents didn’t want her to get a bad back. I even remember a Bebo page dedicated to ‘GeOrGiA’s bUsHy EyEbRoWz’. We drifted for a while when I was more into juicy couture and smoking on the common with my ‘cool’ mates than hanging out with my real best friend, who in spite of her sensible shoes, I loved. Now, thankfully, in our 20’s, Georgia’s discovered threading and I’m no longer a judgmental bitch.
Our relationship was a perfect example of why appearances are so deceptive.
We often question how our friendship has transcended the fact that we could not be more different if we tried. When I called her before writing this article, she told me that she thought our relationship was a perfect example of why appearances are so deceptive. Georgia says if she met me now she’d probably dismiss me as shallow and vapid based on my obsession with fashion, reflected in my appearance. Sadly this stereotype is something I’ve found particularly true since mixing with more people involved in the industry. Far too often I’ve discovered that gorgeous clothes can easily mask revolting personalities. My relationship with Georgia is grounded in something that surpasses the fickleness of exterior first impressions. We’re not friends with one another because of shared interests, likes or dislikes. In fact, the only thing we have in common (aside from a very twisted sense of humour) is our intrinsic understanding of one another.
So many childhood or school day friendships that we still clutch on to exist only because of the past. One aspect of my relationship with Georgia that I cherish is that our friendship isn't just based on a shared nostalgia, even though we’ve known each other since we were babies. Recently I was invited to my friend Millie’s birthday back in Brighton, where I went to school. I was anxious that the evening would be spent reminiscing about the past, talking about getting ID’d or bunking lessons to go to the beach. Having not seen her in at least two years, I wondered whether we could still truly call one another friends, and whether friendships that can exist in the present when they're so grounded in the past. We’ve both changed. My art-kid persona has accelerated since moving to east London and Millie an (ex) Wahoo/Shoosh/Oceana club promoter now lives the glam life, runs her own online clothing boutique and wears real Louboutins.
I realised how special it is to have a relationship with another person that eclipses the façade of our fully developed 'adult' personalities.
It was a party with all the TOWIE trimmings; swimming pool, champagne bar and white linen tablecloths. Most guests seemed untroubled by the Baltic weather, wearing little else other than their fake tan. Millie laughed as one of our mates (a Londoner) resolutely cocooned herself in her puffa jacket, shivering by the bonfire. Though puffas and Perrier-Jouët rarely go hand in hand, we actually ended up having a great time. It was so lovely to see that underneath all our external differences, our friendship has remained the same. I realised how important and special it is to have a relationship with another person that eclipses the façade of our fully developed 'adult' personalities.
In all of my contrasting friendships, I recognise a common theme of piss-taking and mockery keeps the relationship from becoming stagnant. Humour above all, is what has ensured Georgia and I are still friends today. At no time has comic relief been more necessary than when she called to tell me that her boyfriend had ended their nine-month relationship over WHATSAPP (yes, people actually do this, even 28 year old investment bankers like Georgia’s prick of an ex). Speculating, somewhat childishly, about the various ways in which we could sabotage his front door, we discovered the depth of our bond. What started as a harmless egging got more and more twisted as our giggles increased.
When I raised the stakes with one final suggestion for revenge, Georgia paused as she contemplated the strength of our relationship. Then she said, ‘true friendship is someone offering to shit on a doorstep for you’. And you know what babe? For you I’d do it any day.
Follow Belinda on Twitter @belwhitfield
Picture: Rory DCS
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.