As human beings we continuously grow into our [metaphorical] skin. This skin is shrunken and stretched, trying to make it fit our guiding ideology. Although most of the literal shrinking and stretching is based on biology, there's a handful of social and cultural aspects that don't mind giving a hand. Especially 'teenagehood' presents an important period of transition, which in particular opens the road to self-exploration; which comes with its very own aesthetic. An aesthetic that can be as cliché as it sounds.

My teenage years were mainly spend dressed in black (with the occasional strong desire to go full Lolita). Or as my aunt said, I was going through my 'black period'. Turning to my mother as she saw me in head-to-toe black with my hair covering 2/3 of my face: "Oh I see, she's going through her black period." Then dramatically pausing with a sympathetic frown on her face, continuing in a reassuring voice how 'both my cousins went through a black period' and how 'both of them eventually grew out of it'. To which, as can be expected, I angrily stamped my feet stating with the brain capacity of a vain teenager that "this isn't just a phase, this is who I really am." Obviously it was just a phase.

My resume? Black wearer, James Dean discoverer... the usual

As my fellow-teens in the neighbourhood decided that black wasn't their colour, I began to look for a representational being that captivated the essentials of my teen experience. Like most teenagers I eventually uncovered the not-so-well-hidden secret of James Dean: our very own cultural icon of teenage disillusionment and social estrangement (or so Wikipedia claims). And as I was the only black-wearer/James-Dean-discoverer I could relate to, I soon forged the idea I was 'the chosen one' to carry this secret.

Although James Dean is remembered as a vivid red-jacket kinda guy, his legacy as a rebel keeps attracting black-wearers or otherwise self-implied 'edgy' youngsters all over the world. With only three films to his name and the tragic age of 24 forever beaming in neon lights above his head, James 'Jimmy' Dean is the perfect candidate to bestow our dreams upon his facade; either to be debunked or underscored after stalking his image on the internet. Although my Jimmy-days lay long behind me, I began 2018 with reading a biography on him. I bought this biography many light years ago but unfortunately never came round reading it as I was too busy internet-stalking and shrine-building, sighing to myself "no one understands me".

Dream facade

The biography James Dean, Little Boy Lost is written by Joe Hyams. Hyams is no stranger as biographer of Hollywood stars, however as someone who knew James Dean personally he was a bit more reluctant to write down the roller coaster ride of his friend. So he took his time and published this biography 37 years after Dean's death. In the preface of the book Hyams concludes that Dean's seemingly splintered character created unique relationships with the people who knew him. He was never the same person twice. And so as there's no coherent picture of him to represent. This is noticeable throughout the book and the main thing that keeps the story together is the ongoing fascination of 'James Dean' as the ultimate "no one understands me" token.

For someone who's rummaged every corner of the internet, Hyam doesn't reveal any shocking or new insights into the life and death of James Dean. It's nice though to get a more personal account on 'the good ol' days' and how Hyam experienced it in combination with what in hindsight was going on outside of his knowledge. I think the best way to sum up the sentiment of this book is through the 2007 summer hit Fascination by Danish pop band Alphabeat. Not only because they repeat the word fascination a thousand times which is what's keeping the James Dean brand alive. But also because it lingers on unexplained entitlement ('it's just the way we feel') and a glorification of youthfulness dipped in a sinister upbeat tempo. Also who doesn't immediately think of Rebel Without a Cause when they grinningly sing: 'Passion is our passion, in the moonlight on a joyride, easy living killed the young dudes in the high boots'. Also kudos to them for rhyming 'passion' with 'passion' and 'dudes' with 'boots'... #poetry

Did you rock the black period look when you were a teen? And why do you think James Dean still speaks to disillusioned youngsters?