Ode To The Sleepover
Sleepovers seem, at least to me, to be the one Hollywood cliché that holds true. Growing up younger than my sister by a hefty six years, watching her leave for a sleepover gave me the same pang of jealousy that I get now hearing about the Oscars or the Met Gala. I used to yearn to be a part of the fun. It was a well-deserved wait though, and when my friends and I became old enough to fall into the bubble-gum world of half-light whispers and midnight gossip, it felt exactly as exciting as I thought it would be.
Sleepovers are the perfect storm. The giddy hormonal experience of early adolescence, the pyjama clad honesty, the junk food in your veins. Where else can you ask all your friends the risky questions about love and sex and aspirations?
I miss sleepovers, if I’m being honest. I went to an all-girls school, and while my nostalgia limply hangs itself on the memory of an exclusively female space – something which I find myself constantly trying to carve out of the adult world – the real appeal was what went on after dark. The lights out, sleeping-not-sleeping atmosphere where the grey room played host to whispered conversation. Looking up at an empty ceiling, the smell of someone else’s clean bedsheets filling the air, and my friends all around me on a knife-edge ready to laugh–it felt like the perfect arena.
There was something safe there; all of us, together, where we could say anything we wanted and it wouldn’t be awkward or embarrassing. Sleepovers came during times when you needed them the most, when you love your friends the most, and when everything scares you the most, but tragically they fizz away far too soon. By 18, most of the magic is gone, and you’re left feeling sick, stuffed full of chocolate in someone else’s bed, wishing you’d just gone home. Now – even though I’ve barely dipped my toe into my 20s – everyone’s either too content to sit on the night bus, or too drunk to stretch into the magical sphere of The Sleepover.
My friends stay over from time to time, but no one really has sleepovers anymore – where the night’s entertainment is the night itself. Instead we cram into a bar or a club with people we don’t know and take pictures and buy drinks until we return, stale mouthed, to our own beds. Don’t get me wrong, that’s fun too! But for every tea you need cake, and with every club night, you need a sleepover.
Thinking back to the last few times I’ve stayed at a friend’s, it’s been a montage of guest rooms and falling asleep as soon as the lights are off. There’s no secret spilling, or open honesty. A late-night chat, should you require one, is reserved for smoking areas or glasses of wine, and they feel strange and secretive.
I get flickers of The Sleepover now and then. While giggles at brunch or the quick-fingered excitement of a funny group chat may also give me the same thrill, they burn out all too quickly. Saying exactly how I feel to my friends at midday feels too serious and too confessional. Sometimes, I want the worries I divulge to be met with a smooth, worriless teenage attitude, rather than the earnest, adult sensibilities that we all have now.
Puberty has been gone through, and brought with it kindness and intelligence, but even though our hormones have somewhat stabilised, life tips us around more violently than it ever did in our youth. Just because I’m meant to be an adult now doesn’t mean that boys can’t break my heart, or that school can’t stress me out. If there’s ever a time for a sleepover resurrection, complete with donuts and a bad film, I’d say that the ages of 20 through to 25 would be just perfect for the job.
Lou Willmott is a London-based writer, currently studying for her MSt in Creative Writing at the University of Oxford. She specializes in both long and short-form prose, and her work often uses vivid color and themes of nature. A fan of art, she regularly draws upon pre- Raphaelite pieces for inspiration. She’s happy to read anything but particularly likes Margaret Atwood and Francoise Sagan. When she’s not writing Lou is a ballet dancer, flautist, and Pinterest addict. You can find her on Twitter @louwillmott
This article was edited by Assistant Editor Michaela Keil
Copyedited by Tah Ai Jia