I craved a mean girl’s approval until My Little Pony broke the spell

When I was seven, I was obsessed with one particular classmate. She was the only girl taller than me and she never let me forget it. She was allowed to wear colourful nail polish and had shiny Lelli Kelly shoes, while I had short, plain nails and had to make do with classic black Clarks. I craved her approval.

That spring she got an iPhone, and deliberately shunned me for a while afterwards. I cried for hours, but I wasn’t confused. I understood, and even respected it. Why would she grace me with her aura? I was lucky she let me sit at her table at all, even if it was only to taunt me for still bringing in a packed lunch. She was my best friend – I was always holding out hope that one day I would be hers.

Growing up neurodivergent, I struggled to recognise when someone was making fun of me. I had sat through the same anti-bullying assemblies as everyone else, but I could not understand what that looked like in practice. So each day I would come home upset from school, kick off my stupid, ugly Clarks shoes, and tumble on to the sofa with my little sister to watch My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.

I lived for that cartoon. It had all the things I loved: talking creatures, bright colours, catchy songs and a multitude of branded dolls, clothes and stationery that I begged my parents for. But what fascinated me most were the Elements of Harmony. Each of the “Mane Six” ponies represented an “Element” that made her a good friend: honesty, kindness, laughter, generosity, loyalty and magic.

I started assigning the Elements to my own friends, a little game I played in my head. One friend was definitely kindness. That one was honesty. My sister was so funny that she could only be laughter. I went through my friends one by one, trying to work out which quality best represented them.

Then I got to her. I couldn’t think of one. I went through the list again. Honesty? No. Kindness? No. Generosity? Not really. Loyalty? Definitely not. Laughter? Not when she was the only one laughing.

My favourite song was A True, True Friend from the season three finale. In the episode, Twilight Sparkle and her friends have their identities mixed up, and the ponies work together to help one another become themselves again. The song is essentially a celebration of showing up for your friends, unique as they are. They all have their specific traits, their own things they are good at. The true, true friend is someone who helps you find and access your own talents, without overshadowing you or making you feel bad for not having the same things they do.

One morning, in the car on the way to school, I started singing that song in my head. My inner voice grew louder as I walked towards the corner of the playground where the subject of my devotion was telling a story to her admirers, gesticulating wildly. As I looked at them, the chorus ricocheted around in my head.

Then I simply turned around and walked away. I joined a girl I knew slightly who was reading a wildlife book alone on a bench. I asked her if she liked ponies.

More than a decade later, I still feel guided by the Elements of Harmony. I love my friends for their quirks, the things that are just them. My best friend from sixth form is so clever she is like Twilight Sparkle in the flesh. My university roomie sends me weird reels and buys me takeaways when I’m skint. When I need brutal honesty, I know my sister will be more than eager to serve it to me.

I even think about that girl from primary school. I worry about whether she was hurt when I walked away from her that day. We just weren’t right for each other. And that’s OK. Maybe her elements are different. But I have my people.