The Seven Ages of Girls

A journey through time

The Reveler has defined and penned descriptions of more than twenty different types of girls, but this is a different view of the dear things - not as individual types, but how they change over time, from their first bashful entrance as new girls to their exit as raddled derelicts.

The Newcomer

Fresh from the village and still awestruck by the heaving metropolis of the big city, she hides away in a corner of the bar and watches timidly as her older friends and family perform their evening rituals.

She hasn't got any make-up on, her hair is short and 'sensibly' styled, and she wears a dowdy woolen top over a long skirt or blue jeans. She's a fledgling, a sweet young thing ignorant of the ways of the world and as yet unspoiled.

The Budding Beauty

She now wears a tee shirt and more stylish jeans, and flat-soled shoes or sandals. Her hair is longer and set in a more fashionable style, and there's a hint of lipstick and eyebrow pencil on her face.

She's got her little coterie of friends; youngsters like her, and chat coyly with the guys as she sits next to the disco dance floor. She sips a soft drink, hasn't yet discovered the terrors and delights of the Hard Stuff.

The Rising Star

She's now got poise, and radiates demure self-confidence. Her hair is shoulder-length and well groomed, sleek and glossy, and she's learning the art of make-up - the lipstick has given way to lip-gloss, there's a subtle hint of eye shadow and just a smidgen of mascara. Her nails are nicely manicured, and glossed with plain varnish. 

She's just got her first hand phone, one of the budget models, and is rapidly learning its power as she sifts through the SMS messages and giggles naughtily at the blandishments from her growing band of beaux. Her rising status is signaled by gold and jeweler - small glittering earrings, a few bangles on her arm, perhaps a necklace and pendant, and maybe even an ankle chain. This isn't worn to impress the guys, but to establish her place in the girls' pecking order.

She's graduated from soft drinks, and her tipple of choice is whisky cola or gin and tonic. She'll also jump at the more exotic (and expensive) mixtures - not because she likes them, but because the bar owners will be pleased with the trade she generates, and award her Most Favored Girl status. Another fashion accessory is the cigarette, which she handles rather gauchely and inhales with frowning intensity.

The Sophisticate

Gone are the jeans and tee shirts, she now wears a designer dress - a slinky clinging model, a skimpy mini, perhaps a thigh-split long dress. She's also learnt the importance of a nicely padded bra and elegant high-heeled shoes. The make up is immaculate, and speaks of afternoons bowed in front of a mirror worshipping at the altar of beauty.

Her hand phone is the dernier cri, sleek and sexy - and of course, with integrated camera. Her jeweler is reassuringly heavy and chunky and she sports a designer watch. She has perfected the art of smoking, and every movement is beautifully choreographed. Just to watch her light up is a feast to the eyes.

She's the centre of attraction, holding court at the best table in the bar, laughing and chattering with the older big spenders and the young bucks as they queue up to pay court and ply her with expensive drinks. She'll dance with a favored few, and flirt quite outrageously so as to make the other besotted guys ache with jealousy.

The Belle

She's now one of the grandes dames of the Block, mature and confident and at the height of her powers. Her reputation goes before her, everybody know her. She has at least one of the guys in tow as her regular beau or boyfriend, and bestows her favors amongst a very select patronage.

But all is not quite as it seems. Age is slowly and subtly undermining her beauty, so more skill and care than ever is applied to the choice of clothes, and to the make-up ritual. She is now a creature of the night, and heavy drinking and smoking have taken their cruel and inevitable toll. As she watches a younger generation blossoming around her, she feels the first cold draught of competition.

To keep up the pace she needs some assistance - and if alcohol and nicotine don't hit the spot, there's narcotics. She enters the shadowy world of artificial stimulants, and starts popping Ecstasy - or worse.

The Aging Femme Fatale

The figure has filled out, the face is becoming taught and drawn, the hair has lost its luster. She's keenly aware that she's no longer the svelte beauty of her youth, and sees the youngsters edging her out of the limelight. But she's still attractive; and in the half-light of the bar, from the right angle, can still make heads turn.

The make-up is now artfully applied to hide the telltale signs of aging; colored eye shadow, dark eyebrow liner, artificial eyelashes, are the order of the day. Her hair is now worn long, down to the waist even, and she wears glitzy short dresses that enhance the rounder figure.

But what she lacks in beauty, she makes up for in experience. She knows all the tricks (and most of the guys), so she adapts. After so long in the demi-monde of Pubs she speaks passable English, has a fund of knowledge and experience, and enjoys drinking and chatting with the guys who appreciate good company.

Like a mother hen, she takes some of the more vulnerable youngsters under her wing and guides them through their initiation into Pub life. She takes vicarious pleasure in their little joys and triumphs, and has saved many a fledgling from emotional disaster.

The Derelict

Last scene of all, she's now a blown rose whose beauty has withered. The body and the features have a saggy coarseness that no sexy dress, no amount of make-up, can hide. She puts on a brave face and, like the old trooper that she is, still slips quietly into the bar and sits, unobtrusively, watching the pageant with graceful nostalgia. She'll chat with the other old girls of her generation, nursing a drink and whiling away the hours in amiable conversation.

She has a bevy of youngsters under her tutelage, to whom she plays the role of surrogate mother and, very often, of mamasan. She'll fix up the new or inexperienced guys with a partner, in return for a drink or a bit of taxi money.

Until one day she no longer appears in the bar, and after a few nights is no more than a fading memory.