Posts Tagged ‘(retro)photo Friday’

« Older Entries |

(retro)photo Friday #10: Fashion maven

I spend too much time cruising the JCrew.com sale links. Way, WAY too much time. Especially in the sweaters. No one should spend as much time debating the merits of merino versus cashmere or 3/4 versus full sleeves or cardigan versus pullover as I do. Especially when I should be doing something more productive….like catching up on the latest episode of 16 and Pregnant or something. (It’s research for BUMPED. Really.)  That JCrew.com is the go-to destination for a disproportionate amount of my procrastination is particularly ironic when I consider that I once had an opportunity to be the person writing J.Crew’s captivating catalog copy instead of timesucking it.

If you’ve been to one of my college events* recently, you’ve heard the story about how I had an interview at J.Crew when I was a senior in college. The job was junior copywriter and I went to the interview in a horrible $29 suit from Strawberry which was a fine place to buy shiny and flammable club clothes but wasn’t exactly known as an emporium for professional wear. Because I couldn’t draw upon my small fortune in unused dining hall dollars, that’s all I could afford. So the hiring high priestess of the J.Crew catalog was quizzing me on my sweatery opinions on such subjects as ribbed versus un- , when she suddenly got all serious, leaned into the desk and asked:

“ARE YOU A FASHION MAVEN?”

I responded as any reasonable college senior in a $29 suit from Strawberry would respond to such a question.

“HA!”

Which was not the right answer. And why I now pay J.Crew and not vice-versa.

If I was ever a fashion maven, I peaked when I was three years old. Just look at me rocking that mini dress, tights and Mary Janes. Now I recognize that my mother is really to be credited for dressing me so well. Because as soon as I was left up to my own sartorial devices the results were none too pretty.

Exercising my right to fashion autonomy is how this:

Turned into this twelve years later: (more…)

Tags: , ,

(retro)photo Friday #9: My porn star name.

I realize that it’s probably not a good idea to write a post with the word “porn” in the title. But when I see this picture of me (And my younger brother…That’s his arm holding up the turtle from below. I’ve cropped him out because he may not appreciate me posting pictures of him when he was younger, even though he was an adorable, tow-headed, pinch-his-cheeks cherub when he was six. And while I’m writing about my brothers, it should be noted that the genuine mesh-n-foam red star baseball cap belonged to my older brother. I’m quite frankly shocked by this evidence that I once dared to put this hat on my head because this hat was HIS STUFF and when he was 14 years old he would set booby traps all around his room because he was very, very protective of HIS STUFF.) holding up this box turtle, I can’t help but think of the porn star name game. You know, first pet and first street you lived on blahblah. This box turtle was the only pet I ever had. Okay, that’s not totally true. It was THE ONLY PET I EVER HAD THAT I DIDN’T HAVE TO FLUSH DOWN THE TOILET AFTER IT JUMPED OUT OF THE TANK TO MEET ITS AQUATIC MAKER. Yes, I had a suicidal fish before I got this box turtle, but I can’t remember the fish’s name so it doesn’t really count. And I lived in the same house on the same street for my entire childhood, which is why my porn star name is…

OXFORD BITTERN

…the unporniest name in the history of the meme. I always imagined Oxford Bittern as a British, pipe-smoking, snifter-of-brandy-drinking, tweed-jacket-wearing, octogenarian. Oxford Bittern is the kind of humorless gent who might host a poorly-rated program on PBS, not the Playboy Channel.

Tags:

(retro)photo Friday #8: Laugh.

I have no idea who or what was making me laugh so hard when this photo was taken.

But every time I see it, I’m reminded that I need to laugh more often.

Especially at myself.

Tags: ,

(retro)photo Friday #7: Kids invent everything.

A bunch of neighborhood kids were at the top of a steep, snow-covered incline, arguing over who had the idea to stand up on his sled and use it as a makeshift snowboard. Each boy insisted he had been first to come up with the brilliant new sport, a solution to the too-many-kids-not-enough-snowboards conundrum.

When I was seven, I also thought I was the first person to stand up on my sled. I called it “snurfing.”

The great narcissism of youth convinces you that you’re the first person ever to experience the thrill of whatever it is that you’re doing. It’s like you invented this awesome new thing–be it snurfing or sex.

As you get older, there are fewer and fewer firsts. And you realize that everything has already been done before by someone else. The best you can do is make the old feel new through creative application of your own unique point of view.

The kids did this by turning snurfing into a daredevil team sport, sending pairs, trios and even a quartet of kids down the hill on a single sled. They crashed more than they snurfed, but had so much fun congratulating themselves over the setting and breaking of world records that existed only in their imagination.

I’m doing this by getting back to work on my book.

Tags: ,

(retro)photo Friday #6: SNOOOOOOOOOW!

Look at how psyched my brother and I are. WE. ARE. PSYCHED. SNOOOOOOOW! YEAH!!! This is the BEST DAY EVER. We’re gonna go SLEDDING on the GOLF COURSE! WHOO-HOO! And we’re gonna build an IGLOO FORT in our front yard and a SNOWMAN who we will still call FROSTY even if we have to improvise with a ROCKS and STICKS because we don’t have a CORNCOB PIPE, a BUTTON NOSE, or COAL because who has that stuff lying around the house anyway? And we’re not gonna come inside for hot chocolate until we can’t feel our feet anymore because it’s SNOOOOOOW and SNOW is the BEST and WE ARE SO PSYCHED!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ll try to recapture this enthusiasm when I’m shoveling my walkway.

Tags: ,

(retro)photo Friday #5: Special Birthday Edition

Yeah, I know it’s Wednesday. But it’s also my birthday so I can break the rules of my own blog if I want to. So this is the very first photo of me ever taken. I got it about a half hour ago from my parents who drove across Jersey to take me out to lunch for my birthday. They came bearing four trash bags* bursting with hundreds of loose pictures and dozens of photo albums spanning a century of family history. They want me and my brothers to scan and label these photos for posterity. This is a momentous task because every other photo inspires peals of appalled laughter and conversation that goes like this:

Me: OH MY GOD.

Dad: That’s some hair right there.

Me: And the outfit? Why? Seriously. WHY?

Mom: But that was the style…

Me: Egad.

ETC.

Obviously, this photo is free from such scrutiny.

* Which, as anyone who watched JERSEY SHORE knows, are the offficial luggage of the Garden State.

Tags: ,

(retro)photo Friday #3: Pink foam rollers

This is my third grade class photo. The blouse was silk, the vest was velvet, and though you obviously can’t see them in this photo, the culottes were tweed and brown.

That’s right. Culottes. 1880s newspaper delivery boy knickers updated for the 1980s. Modern pantaloons.

The three elements of this outfit–blouse-vest-culottes–were never separated from one another. Never did I wear the blouse sans vest under my baby blue monogrammed sweater*. Never did I wear the vest over my Cheryl Tiegs brand plaid blouse with ruffles down the front*. Never did I wear the brown tweed culottes with my purple, teal and magenta batwing velour sweater*. BLOUSE-VEST-CULOTTES. It’s as if the whole outfit would self-destruct in a conflagration of bad fashion if one element was removed from the ensemble as a whole.

*Not hypothetical. These are actual descriptions of clothing I once owned and wore and will perhaps post on this blog in the future.

This was my “special occasion” hair. On any ordinary day, my hair was less…flouffy. I can’t even begin to explain what’s happening with the triangular swoop of bang across my forehead. I only know that such special occasion hair could only be made possible through the use of….

Pink.

Foam.

Rollers.

My mother was a big believer in the pink foam rollers. (Rollers, Maybelline mascara and Oil of Olay night cream. That’s the extent of beauty knowledge passed down from mother to daughter. My mother is a natural babe so that minimal routine served her well. It’s all she needed. Not to be too unkind to my younger self, but suffice it to say that I required a bit more assistance than that.) Long ago my mom upgraded to hot rollers. The problem with rollers of any kind is that I never learned how to roll my own, so to speak. My mom always rolled for me which she gladly did for just about every special occasion from this third grade class photo up to my senior prom and even some very recent book signings when I didn’t want to shell out for a blowout. The downside to putting mom in charge of all my good hair days is that I’m 36 years old and DON’T KNOW HOW TO STYLE MY OWN HAIR. If you ever see me and my hair is styled in any way but a ponytail or a sloppy bun I DIDN’T DO IT. I’m a capable person in many ways but styling my own hair isn’t one of them.

Tags: ,

(retro)photo Friday #2: Too much make-up

When I was in 5th grade I auditioned for a variety show called RAZZLE DAZZLE ‘EM at a local community theater. For the try-out, I sang the trenchant, big vibrato ballad “Don’t Cry Out Loud” made famous by a singer named Melissa Manchester that I don’t expect any of you kids to know about. (EDIT: It has been pointed out to me that any fans of the movie “Drop Dead Gorgeous” will be familiar with this song.) The sheet music was totally not in my key and it was kind of an inappropriate song to be sung by an eleven-year-old. Not inappropriate as in like, porny, but lyrically speaking it’s not a song an eleven-year-old could really sing with any authentic feeling…yet if done well I guess it could’ve had a haunting effect kind of like The Langley Schools Music Project’s version of “Desperado.” I chose “Don’t Cry Out Loud” for two reasons: 1. My mom liked it. 2. I was very familiar with it because it played on WOBM all the time.

Despite my horrible audition, I got cast in the show. I’m pretty sure they took everybody. RAZZLE DAZZLE ‘EM consisted entirely of scenes and songs from a bunch of famous broadway shows. All the pre-teens and teens were put in a number from the musical “Bye, Bye Birdie” called “The Telephone Song.” I had four solo lines:

DIDJA HEAR ABOUT KIIIIIIIM?/I JUST KNEW IT SOMEHOOOOOOOOOW/I MUST CALL HER RIIIIIIGHT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP/I CAN’T TALK TO YOU NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

I clearly did not understand my character’s motivation. I held my notes sooooooooooo looooooooooong that it was pretty obvious to even the casual listener that I did indeed have plenty of time to sing-talk and I would go on sing-talking indefinitely if only these other stupid girls on stage weren’t sing-talking their own lines about Hugo and Kim and getting pinned yeahyeah.

My mom did pull together a very cool bobby-soxer costume, so I was placed upstage center which made me very happy.

What did not make me happy was how shortly after these photos were taken my mom made me wash off 95 percent of my stage make-up, which I had applied myself in the hopes of coming across as older and more sophistcated to the 7th grade boy in the show that I had a major crush on.

He ended up dating a 6th grade girl in the show named Holly whose mom let her wear as much make-up as she wanted, on-stage or off.

Sigh.

Tags: ,

Next Page »