Why I'm terrified of my glamorous teenage daughters

I have an embarrassing confession to make: I am terrified of my teenage daughters, Beatrice and Florence.

At 16 and 14, with their long glossy blonde hair, they are effortlessly glamorous, chic and stylish.

And yet they also have the attitude to match – their mascara-clad eye roll is a regular feature in our house, while my friends find them so intimidating, they admit to crossing the road to avoid them.

What has happened to teenage girls, that they have become so unnerving even to their own mothers?

This year their Christmas presents cost in the region of £350 each, which seems to me a sizeable amount – especially as they have three other siblings – but seemed barely to scratch the surface of what they’d had in mind themselves.

Weeks earlier they’d compiled a Christmas wishlist PowerPoint presentation, in which the gift total totted up to an eyewatering £3,000. ‘Just some ideas for you,’ noted Florence.

A red hoodie, ‘perfect for cosy nights by the fire’, was priced at £85. The make-up alone came to £600, and included items not even a well-deserving perimenopausal 45-year-old like me would dare to ask for.

None of it is the cheap stuff, mind you. In our day, my sister and I made do with Superdrug and Woolworths, but today’s teen girls accept nothing less than Charlotte Tilbury or a Space NK voucher. Forget popping into H&M for a top – it’s Brandy Melville and Minka Dink as entry-level buys.

On some level I admire this. We are constantly told that teens lack self-confidence but my girls have no trouble voicing their ‘needs’. They are ­untroubled by the concept of martyrdom and show no sign of conforming to the stereotypically female trait of ‘putting themselves last’.

All well and good, were it not for the relentless judgment that goes hand in hand with it.

For example, my girls despair of my own attempts at getting ready for a night out and are constantly giving me advice on ways to look better. They are very bossy about eyelash curling and the importance of highlighter. To their genuine bemusement – cue hard eye-rolling – I had never heard of setting spray until last year.

They have even resorted to doing my hair and make-up for me. I have to admit they always look so perfectly, ­exquisitely made-up – all teen girls do nowadays – I am happy to let them try their techniques on me.

We live in a tight-knit, friendly village on the Essex/Suffolk border, where many of my friends have known the girls since they were little. Yet a school mum recently confessed that whenever she spotted them getting off the school bus, she’d hide behind a hedge or dive into her car as she was scared stiff of the pair.

‘They’re so stunning, but they do give rather withering looks,’ she said.

I get it. I feel the same. The key is to never let them know this is the case.

Instead I try hard to play them at their own game. My glacial stare can match theirs any day of the week. It’s one way to trick them into thinking they don’t make middle-aged women quiver in their boots.

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Another mum friend tries to pretend they don’t intimidate her either.

When I confided in her how I felt, she nodded her head enthusiastically. ‘I’m so pleased you say that as they scare the living daylights out of me…’ before cutting off when ­Florence walked into the kitchen to make herself an iced caramel latte (with a sprinkling of ­cinnamon), looking like an off-duty model.

If they are offhand, I can be equally uneffusive too; I think it’s a good tactic to match their vibe. Why should they get away with rudeness and still expect their ever-patient hand-wringing mother to be at their beck and call? You have to play them at their own game in my opinion – a surly one at that.

Much of their coolness is surely learned online. All teen girls are beautiful, but the TikTok tutorial gives them an air of professional gloss that we certainly did not have at their age.

Our mothers told us ‘you’re not going out looking like that’ if we attempted to emulate our 1990s heroines – mostly in acres of fishnet and tiny crop tops – but my two have so perfectly nailed the cool girl look, I can only admire what they wear, not censor it.

That tiny dress? Looks brilliant with matching Adidas Spezial trainers and smoky eye make-up. The bits of silk that look like pink and yellow nighties? Fine, because they’re long and Lady Beckham-esque, not Spice Girl tacky.

I winced as they used every clean towel putting in at-home highlights, but have to admit their hair now looks salon-perfect. Had I asked for a mug with the word ‘Queen’ on it, as my two did this Christmas, it would have referred either to HM Elizabeth II or Freddie Mercury. Today it’s teen slang for ‘diva’, so at least they’re owning it.

But I am not expected to understand teen slang. I am not cool – they know it, so do I – and I’m determined to be myself and for them to accept this.

I hear they snap out of the intimidating, entitled phase about the time they go to university, and they then often turn into their mum’s best friends. I’m looking forward to that.

For all their eye-rolling right now, however, I am also rather enjoying their awe-inspiring era. Who doesn’t want daughters with the chutzpah to tell the world what they want. More power to the perfect, ­spirited teen girl, terrifying as she may be.