Teen Times: Today I got my nose pierced. Again. Congratulations, humble piece of metal, you are piercing number 21. Once seen as the ultimate symbol of rebellion, I'm beginning to think of these "mutilations", as my mother once called them, as little more than accessories.

When the whole piercing craze started, I genuinely believed it was the ultimate act of teenage rebellion. My father, a respectable member of An Garda Síochána, was pleasantly outraged. My mother had palpitations. The €40 and the swollen tongue had been worth it. I was officially a rebel. Ah, the fake sound of progress.

I'm in a rather reflective mood today. I am in the middle of my Leaving Cert but I'm not the slightest bit stressed. I believe the gods will protect me and that De Nile is just a river in Egypt. It's not that I don't care; I'm already accepted into Queen's in Belfast (sexy Northern boys!) and thus am somewhat exempt from the points rat race.

I simply feel I'm too much of a free spirit to let my aura be tainted by the negative energies of exam stress. The path of a teenage rebel is a steep, slippery slope that begins with apathy towards education, antipathy towards authority and a belief in the importance of non-conformity. At this point, I'm a bit disillusioned with it all.

When I go home this evening, my mother most probably won't notice the second metal hoop in my left nostril. She won't feign indignation at my minuscule T-shirt proclaiming "I F***ed The Guitarist!" , displaying a multiply pierced and tattooed midriff. She's even given up rolling her eyes at the two studded belts that serve no purpose on impossibly low, skinny-fit jeans (the epitome of rock chick, don't you know?).

It pains me to admit it, but somewhere between the first and 21st piercing, between the first and fifth tattoo, between the pink extensions and the omnipresence of the converse, I lost my shock value.

I can't trace where exactly the demise of this shock value began. But my rebellion against what was expected of me became the embodiment of what was expected of me! At dinner last night, I announced to my parents that I was going to England on the weekend between my history and classics exams to see Lost Prophets (fabulous Welsh rock band) play. No forks were dropped nor glasses smashed in horror. They merely advised me to fly with Ryanair. Great bargains apparently.

Part of me had hoped for a screaming match. Surely victory should taste more sweet? I've seen the truth. The freedom I fought so hard for is a bit boring when you've nothing left to rebel against. Without shock value, my rebellions are empty, perhaps pointless.

Curses on this society that has given us teenagers so much freedom that it has stripped us of our ability to rebel accordingly. Tonight I'm gonna stay in and study. That'll really shock them.

• Edwina Egan (18) is a student at Yeats College, Galway

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