Прочла о японских девичьих бандах 70-80х.
No matter where you come of age, school uniforms have always had a role to play in the formation of subcultures and modes of teenage self-expression. Fostering a sense of societal constrictions of dress from a young age, the uniform provides the perfect platform from which to adjust the style codes that one has been dealt in life. While using pop culture leftovers to execute a look from scratch might be a statement of the infinite possibilities of identity, re-coding an existing formula sends a crystal clear message that can’t be missed.
That message, for the rest of society, was one of no-holds-barred violence. Between the layers of clothing, sukeban girls would conceal weapons – razors, chains and anything else that one ought to take a jot more seriously than a yo-yo. Indeed, the sukeban sisterhood rivalled their male equivalents for violence and crime: facing off with rival factions, punishing girls within their own group (e.g. for cheating with someone else’s boyfriend), or generally colouring suburban ennui with a splash of petty crime. What's more, Yakuza-style levels of organisation meant that, at the subculture’s peak, the largest alliance had over 20,000 teenage girls sworn in.
But despite the reputation for crime, sukeban culture was centred in a belief system that above all else brought girls to the front. The long skirts can be seen as a reaction against the sexual revolution of the 60s, a means of protection by which girls could show that their existence wasn’t defined by the desires of male onlookers. Fast forward to the 90s, and this trend had completely reversed itself: by then, the “bad girl” was the one wearing gallons of make-up who had rolled up her skirt’s waistband to turn it into a ultra-short mini skirt.