16 year old blogger

Whilst I haven’t been blogging as much as usual, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I’m doing on here, what I plan to do and what I’ve done so far, and it’s made me start to think about how the labels I’ve used have started to change and have started to develop. One of my biggest blogging characteristics is my age – I’m still a teen blogger, but I’ve started to realise that’s not what defines my presence on the internet anymore.

When I started blogging there were only a few teen, or tween, bloggers (aged from about 11-16) that were well known within the online world. It wasn’t a commonly known thing, so whenever I was asked about my blog and how young I was, there used to always be an element of surprise and intrigue, as well as questions about how I was coping at such a young age of 11. I was asked about what my parents thought and how they handled things; I was asked whether I knew how to cope with bullying and the other darker, scarier parts of the internet. It wasn’t really about what I wrote – it was about who I was as I wrote it.

You can still read my very first blog posts; they’re still live and I haven’t archived them even though there’s been a great temptation to do so. Looking at them now as a sixteen-year-old who’s been writing and creating for almost five years, they make me cringe and cave into that tempting thought of wiping the slate clean. I used to write about how you could recreate celebrity style when five years later I still genuinely don’t know who the Kardashian’s are and why they’re such a big deal.

People used to like what I wrote though because I had feedback and interaction and there was obviously an interest because I was getting asked to feature in magazines and travel to London for events and to film a pilot for a TV show, and all these sorts of exciting things… however, all of these features and all of this interest was mainly being given to me because of one thing – my age.

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WHAT I WORE: Blue Floral Blouse (Jumble Sale) // Sparkly Black Maxi Dress (Charity Shop) // Vagabond Dioon (Mastershoe My-Shu)* // Jewellery (Unknown & Claire’s) 

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I was a ‘tween’ blogger and it was what became my niche, even if it wasn’t intended. My content wasn’t necessarily unique or ground-breaking, but it supposedly was because the ground-breaking thing was who it was being written by. I wouldn’t usually share statistical matters with just anyone but if you must know, my biggest click back and referral to my website is still the article about teen bloggers I was featured in by The Telegraph Magazine. I was 12 years old, I was wearing what was technically a culturally appropriated piece of headwear and I was shooting most of my blog posts on an iPhone 3G.

I’m not trying to say that it’s all been an illusion and I don’t deserve the successes I’ve been given because trust me, it’s not been easy. Blogging isn’t easy. Being an 11-year-old and constantly updating a website and maintaining it, isn’t easy, and I can see why I was unique and ‘inspiring’, and why I still am in my own right.

In fact, all of the stresses and long nights of writing blog posts have made me understand why bigger names and voices get frustrated over the fact that their hard work is often overseen because no matter how big the industry is becoming now, it’s still seen as a hobby and something that anyone can do (well, technically anyone can, but not many are ready for the commitment).

What I’m trying to say is – now that I’m older, I’m growing out of that label. In fact, in about two years’ time, it won’t even be factually correct, because I’ll be an adult (yes, this blog is going to have seen my full transition from an 11-year-old to a fully-fledged ‘adult’), and guess what? You don’t really hear anyone calling themselves an ‘adult blogger’ do you? Unless, you know… you’re into that kind of thing.

And these days, I know I’m not the only one who soon won’t have a blog to base upon their original niche. Although there were only a few popular teen bloggers in 2012, there were still many opening up blogs and Tumblr accounts to give it a shot (I have proof in the form of dozens of emails asking for advice and guidance).

Teen bloggers aren’t a niche anymore because it’s so easy to start something at the click of a button. I’ve found out that a lot of my readers of the same age and younger are bloggers themselves, just by clicking on their Twitter profiles after receiving a reply or a like.

I don’t get asked whether I’m coping with cyberbullying or hate anymore; my parents are barely mentioned when I’m answering interview questions, and it’s all because five years on, people know of these issues and how they work. They’ve seen it hundreds of times over. Young people can make blogs and code their own social media platforms. It’s not new anymore, and that’s a hard honest fact to come to terms with.

So, if you’re reading this as a teen blogger (a blogger who is within the age range of around 11-16 years old), how do we redefine ourselves? How do we stand out and make sure that our young voices don’t get drowned out by the hundreds of others doing the same thing? How do we grow up as a teen blogger?

Ask yourself, why are you blogging?

If you’re known for being a young blogger, or your readers are young and they look up to you for the fact that they can relate to what you’re saying, you need to make sure that you’ve defined the niche that yourself and your readers will be able to grow up with. For me, it’s been a journey. I now class myself as an ethical fashion blogger (and aspiring fashion designer) because that’s what is important to me. If you write about teen beauty, specify what your core focus is on. You don’t have to label yourself as a ‘confidence blogger’ or an ‘acne blogger’, but make your core focus a key message throughout everything you do (more on this in the next point).

Labels aren’t everything, though. You don’t have to feel like you’re fixed in one position, because of the fact you’re going to change. You’re what you are in this specific moment in time, not forever.

Write a mission statement…

If you want to make a point about what you’re doing and you want to stand up for what you believe in, shout it! Write a mission statement and make it clear and precise as to what your goal is. Your readers will know what they’re there for and what they’ll be gaining at the same time. Start defining what part of being a teen blogger is most important to you. Here’s mine from my about page…

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Let things change…

Don’t feel like you have to stick to a certain style or to a certain aesthetic just because that’s what you started with. I believe in creating a strong branding, but that doesn’t mean you can’t branch out and become the blogger and person you truly are. Allow your blog to grow up organically. Don’t force yourself into writing content just attract a certain audience. Let things change and develop. Think of yourself and your blog as a flower – you need to blossom and bloom.

…and accept it.

The hardest part is knowing that things have got harder and that being someone young online isn’t going to cause a stir. It might not have been why you started out, but it might have been what got you off the ground. It caused attention and it created your audience, but it might not necessarily do that anymore. It’s not just because of your age, it’s because of how much more choice there is. You have to accept the path things go, which is in fact, part of blossoming and blooming.

I’ve started to take this quote on board a lot, whether it’s to do with confidence or life in general – flowers are pretty but so are fairy lights and they look nothing alike. You can still have your own unique voice and still bloom into something individual and undefined by your age or another part of your personality or general being, and be successful and stand out. It really is about knowing what that is to you and watching people follow. In fact, I guess it’s about growing up in general – you have to work out who you are, first.

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If you’re a teen blogger – how are you growing up online? Let’s chat in the comments!

(Definitely not a fashion related post, but an important one nonetheless.) I don’t mean to be dramatic as I write this. I don’t mean to worry anyone or make my experience seem worse than others, because I know it wasn’t, in fact, I’ve never felt luckier.

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My experience of the earthquake was minor compared to others.
Please donate to Croce Rossa Italiana to help those in need.

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You may have seen on Twitter or Facebook or wherever else I post, but if not, then you won’t know that on Wednesday 24th August at 3.36am, a 6.2 magnitude earthquake hit the region of Italy where I am currently staying. Again, I am safe and even after not knowing where she was for four hours of the morning after, even our travelling cat Paloma was found without a scratch.

But, I have never and I hope that I will never again experience something so terrifying. I know that earthquakes happen all over the world fairly frequently, whether that be big or small, and I know that there are even more scarring experiences to go through, but even the sound of a car driving down our road is now enough to make me feel like crying again.

I’ve learnt about earthquakes before. I’ve researched them, my family even planned out the sort of thing we would do if one hit before we started travelling through Italy, so it’s not like we knew it could never happen… it’s just you never really think it will. And when it does, there’s no warning. There’s no gradual build up. In a matter of seconds it can feel like your whole world is about to shatter, and unfortunately for some, this time – it did.

For me the worst part is exactly that; how sudden it was. I go to bed fairly late. I fell asleep at about half past 1 in the morning, after watching an ASMR video because sometimes I find them relaxing to watch before I drift off. I put my laptop down, turned off my side light and closed my eyes. I hadn’t said goodnight to my parents or brother, and I hadn’t given my cat a cuddle; I’d just simply fallen asleep, as you do, normally, definitely not thinking about what would happen in 2 hours’ time.

I feel rather stupid now, because when I go over the events (which let me tell you, isn’t pleasant to do – I’m crying as I type this) I remember sitting bolt upright in my bed when I first heard the rumbles and felt the shakes (more on this in a moment) and thinking – ‘What’s that?’. It only really clicked in my mind when I heard my mum call out, “Get under a table!”, a phrase we’d discussed when researching what to do if it ever happened.

My first conscious action was to scream.

I then attempted to get under my bed, because I’m fairly slim and I’ve done it before in order to get a box out from underneath it, but in the pitch black, with your heart racing and nothing making sense, climbing under a small space is near impossible. So I crawled as quickly as I could to the desk at one side of the room, crossed my arms over my knees and closed my eyes.

Last night (as in, the night before I wrote this – 27th August), we went to a restaurant by the sea (where nothing was effected by the earthquake) to try and calm ourselves. We were by a railway line and a train came past. My dad put his hand on my arm and said “It’s just a train.”, and I was a bit confused, but as soon as it passed, I froze, because I knew exactly why he’d said it. For a split second I thought I would be fine, but all of a sudden the tears came spilling out and I had to try my hardest not to close my eyes so I didn’t think back to the night.

The train was nothing in comparison to what I felt and heard, but anything can set me off now. It’s so hard to explain.

In my opinion, it’s like the earth roared. It was so dark and so sudden that I couldn’t even allow myself to see what was actually happening as the building shook. I can’t explain it. You don’t know what an earthquake feels like until you feel one – and I hope none of you reading this ever will, or ever have, because trust me, you really don’t want to.

I believe the main quake lasted about 20 seconds. In that time, I got under my desk, my mum found a space under a table outside of the bedrooms, my brother stayed put upstairs where he sleeps, and my dad attempted to get to my room. Also in that time, I finally managed to open my eyes as the shaking and roaring faded. Things were scattered across the floor, ornaments were broken and the cupboard doors had opened to let things fly out.

I was crying through all of it, but the tears and hyperventilating didn’t come until there was light from somewhere (I still honestly have no idea where from – one of my parents’ torches? The main lights?) and I looked up at the wall above the bed.

There’s now a diagonal crack from the bottom corner to the top corner, with brick exposed and plaster completely gone. I looked to the floor and I could see dust and paint and as I finally got to my feet, I had to try my best to tip toe around broken glass. The scary thought I have is that I had no idea any of this was happening at the time. The only thing you worry about in terms of destruction, is how to avoid it – not what’s actually being destroyed.

My brother came in my room at one point, and tried to join me under the table… once the shaking had stopped, my dad dashed downstairs as safely as he could to get bottles of water, and once he was back, we huddled in the hallway under tables and turned up sofas and decided what to do next.

This is why I’m grateful for my surroundings – we were able to safely get out of the house and sit on sunbeds in the open garden where nothing could fall on top of us in the event of an aftershock. None of us had injuries – our main concern of wellbeing was our cat, who like I said, we didn’t find until four hours later when the sun had come up. She was upstairs where the least damage had occurred, hiding behind some drawers and a sofa. I’ve never been so happy to see a cat in my life.

I’ve also never been so happy for WiFi. The connection where we are isn’t the greatest, in fact it drives me mad most of the time, especially when it comes to blogging, but somehow it was still going strong for us to use. My brother had his iPad and was Googling what we should do next – what we should check, where we should go, and whether anything was going to happen again.

The internet couldn’t give us exact answers, but it made us feel like we weren’t so alone as we sat under the stars (and what seemed to be a meteor shower – a detail of this story I keep forgetting to mention to people) and tried to compose ourselves, which is what I’m still doing four days later, and what I expect I’ll still be doing in four weeks’ time at this rate.

What I’ve written really hasn’t explained the pure terror of that morning. My brain was trying to figure so much out all at one time. I didn’t have my life flash before my eyes, but I’m certain at one point I gulped and realised I still hadn’t met my newborn nephew who’s just turned a month old. I was shaking outside from the shock rather than the cold and I didn’t want my dad to let go of me.

The aftershocks started soon after. The biggest one we’ve experienced so far was about an hour after the main hit, rumbling for a good few seconds and knocking whatever we heard in the distance to the ground (we believe it may have been an abandoned farm building nearby). Aftershocks are still happening, and they’re what is keeping me from going inside to write this.

There are two very different sensations – an aftershock outside and an aftershock inside.
Outside, it’s mainly under your feet. You feel it and you hear it, and it unsettles you, but if you’re in an area where nothing can fall, you know you’re safe. Inside however, it’s all around you; the building shakes and almost sways, like it’s about to push up from the ground, and even if it lasts two seconds, you’re already looking for the nearest table.

Apparently it is extremely rare for a strong aftershock to hit again, but it’s not impossible. What should happen from now on, is tiny rumbles until they fade away completely. It might take a week, it might take two… we still might feel something in a month’s time. That’s the thing with earthquakes – you can’t ever know.

So we’re still sleeping outside. Our cat stays in a locked room during the day, before joining us in the tent during the night. We could go back in, because we’ve had a builder take a look at the damage in all of the rooms, and we’ve had the gas tank checked for leaks (“It’s the Season 4 of my life!”, I joked to a friend recently – you can make me feel better by understanding that reference) but it’s just the thought of experiencing it again, in the same place, barely a week after, that is terrifying (me, mainly).

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My experience of the earthquake was minor compared to others.
Please donate to Croce Rossa Italiana to help those in need.

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I really wish I could turn back time. If I could ask for anything right now, it would be to go back to the day before when I was getting on with my work and life and being productive and feeling safe. I’d really like a nice sleep in my bed without having to look up at the ceiling which has cracks in it.

But that’s why I started this post by saying ‘I don’t want to be dramatic’.
I know it could be worse.

I could have no bed to go back into at all. The cracks on my phone could be because it got smashed under rubble, rather than the fact I dropped it a few months ago. The tent we’re sleeping in could be because we have no house to return to, rather than just because we’re afraid. We could have been an hour and a half away, in a town we had a coffee in last winter, watching everything we know and love fade away.

My heart breaks every time I think about the fact that other families who experienced the same thing at the same time as us, are no longer whole. I hate that I know a girl younger than me had to survive 24 hours under the rubble of her house, and that babies have lost their very short lives. And I hate how there was nothing anyone could do to prevent any of it.

But I feel so grateful that we’re in a country where there are resources to help those in worse conditions, and that it took me all of two minutes to donate to the Italian Red Cross to help in a small way, and that a friend of mine is helping in the preparation for food to be delivered to effected villages… and that with every day it’s going to get easier and that I’m safe.

This trauma isn’t going to be easy to get over. Driving up and down the unpaved road nearby feels rather similar to how my bed shook and moved, and I’m going to be reminded by it every day with all the damage, until the redecorators finally leave at some point. But I’m okay. I obviously might not be blogging as much until I feel comfortable at my desk again, but I’m okay.

I experienced an earthquake and I guess it’s just another story to add to the list. A list that will hopefully make me stronger, and a list that I can hopefully pass on to help others.