The Esther Greenwood School for Girls is about language and our use of it, old and new. It is about old cassette tapes found in shoeboxes in the attic of the family home, about putting on the horrible foam headphones that used to be coloured bright orange and now are just moth-eaten, and listening to old sounds with all the new sadness you have accumulated in your life—it is about inventing words for new feelings, about finding that term that young people on tumblr are using nowadays that has described the way you have felt all your life.
The Esther Greenwood School for Girls is about your first night out in a new leopard print faux fur coat and the tartan frock you brought from H&M, and that feeling you had when you went to the sales desk and hoped that the girl with the dark hair behind the counter would think you were buying the dress for someone else, someone younger. It is about the way you first felt when you realised that when Geoffrey Chaucer spoke of 'the young girls of the diocese' and their secrets, he wasn't just talking about children assigned female at birth; it is the way you first felt when you realised that the words you made, and the words you use to talk about yourself make the very world around you.
The Esther Greenwood School for Girls has been making fanzines since the late '90s about devils and hardcore punk, about cats and cassette tapes, and new music and old words—old music and new words—about white Converse and peroxide blonde hair. And now, at the beginning of a new term, it is your turn to enrol, your uniform crisp and ironed, hanging from a hook on the outer door of your wardrobe.
The school bell is ringing. If you rush you can still make the bus.