So, now, well – I’m a believer. I hadn’t watched “Skins” ever before. Of course I’d heard all about it. Friends had raved about it. Writers had waxed eloquent about it. But I’d never watched, until this weekend. But then, boy, did I watched. I started with season 3, for obvious reasons. I watched the first six episodes all in one setting, finishing just as the sun was starting to make its presence known. Waking up later that morning, was like waking up after having great sex with someone new for the first time. You look over and think, “I get to do this again and again. FUCKING BRILLIANT.” The next night I marathoned the last four, swallowing them whole without bothering to chew. And as we speak (well, I type, you read – semantics), I am using all of my willpower to not make a few clicks and start watching season 4. Oh, that intoxicating first blush of love when you can’t keep your hands off each other.
Skins is so many things: Hilarious, overblown, sexy, fun, heartbreaking, confounding, joyous, randy, poignant, silly, absurd, wise, disturbing, courageous and real. Also, dude, how does every teen in Britain have such seemingly effortless access to weed? But mostly they’re just good stories, spun so well that we can’t help but care what happens to every single one of these obnoxious teenagers.
Gosh, and we haven’t even talked about Naomily yet. I’ve downloaded their episodes to my iPhone and carry them around with me in my pocket everywhere I go. That’s now I feel about Naomi and Emily. I’m not sure I’ve watched another show, another scene on TV that has made my wibbly bits feel all wobbly and then my spirit feel so shattered in a less than three minutes flat. In fact, I’m sure of it. And then the cat-flap. Even if they only existed in that one episode it would still rank as one of the most nuanced, most honest, most amazing portrayals of gay teenagers to be put on screen. “So be brave, and want me back.” Man, is that not falling in love in a nutshell?
Smitten, just smitten.