I used to dream about having my ears pierced. Literally. When I was seven, I woke my father with somnolent – but very insistent - requests to get earrings. The reality was more of a nightmare: when I found myself perched on a tall stool at the local pharmacy not long after that, the piercing gun broke in my ear – mid-lobe, if you will - and I said, 'That's enough.' It took another five years for me to summon the chutzpah to attempt the ordeal again. But of course, by then, all the other girls were doing it. So off I went, cortisol levels at a pre-pubescent high, and had my first piercings – just the two of them.
My glamorous mother's lobes were never in want of a bit of bling, and playing dress-up just wasn't legit if I couldn't properly accessorise with earrings. There was just something so very glamorous and grown-up about being able to wear jewellery in my ears.
Back then, I remember looking at people with more than one hole in each lobe and thinking there was something a little bit dangerous about them and, God help me, maybe something a little bit chavvy too; an indicator of loose morals and a questionable work ethic. Sorry, I'm not proud of that sentiment.
So perhaps it is a small act of protest at reaching my mid thirties that I now find myself in possession of five piercings in my ears. Three on my left, two on the right. And I want more. If two neat lobe piercings are grown up, then surely multiple ear piercings are a signifier of youth. And, truthfully, I really am a more-is-more kinda gal and a bit of a hippy to boot.