When I was some-young-age, I was obsessed with Madonna. I remember when her Time cover came out; I was so satisfied. Finally my world collided with my dad's world (he was a journalist). If Madonna was on Time, then I wasn't just a stupid kid forcing my little sister to do dance routines with me in the basement. Adults were finally getting hip to something I had known all along. I was a seer. Maybe now they'd listen up.
I remember sitting in my backyard looking at my hand literally PRAYING that I would have some kind of transcendental moment and her black rubber bracelets and lace gloves would appear on my wrists. It seemed to me that if I wanted something THAT BADLY, I should be able to will it into existence. I snapped out of it a few minutes later, got up off the lawn, and resigned myself to bare-armed dorkdom.
People talk about the "freedom" of being a child. But unless your mom is on crack, you are not free. There is no way I was putting those hooker accouterments on my person and wearing them to school, even if Madonna or her baby Jesus made them appear.
But with adulthood, and a little bit of money, the closet is your oyster. And now I have reached a point in the time-trend continuum where the dreams of my youth can be realized at Claire's Accessories.
Too bad I don't want this crap anymore!
Cheers to being old and over it.
Image credits: Pani magazine October 2009, vintage Madonna via The Art of Smoking.
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