when i was 11, my parents and i planned on spending part of the fourth of july in a movie theater. for a couple of weeks prior it had been decided that we’d watch independence day on the big screen.
and because i was a tween before the word even existed, i had been planning my outfit for weeks. it was going to be the perfect—equal parts sophistication, funkiness, and patriotism. because you know, any outfit that’s decent follows that set of criteria.
yes, my outfit was going to be spectacular for one reason. my hair. my golden locks, still recovering from my decision to “grow up” and have short hair, would be adorned with these:
with these carefully entwined in my hair, anyone who dare lay eyes on me would be overcome with an insatiable envy. the glints of gold, the intricate styling, the sheer patriotism…i mean, who wouldn’t be jealous!?
after hearing my detailed plans (and catching me in the craft closet under the stairs, stars in hand), my mother said “NO.”
that one little word…so piercing, so cruel, so final. didn’t she know that she was silencing the expression of a fashion genius? DIDN’T SHE KNOW SHE WAS RUINING MY WORLD? WHY MUST SHE RUIN MY LIFE?
and so i went to the movies. arms crossed, chin down, and hair so excruciatingly plain. the popcorn had no buttery, joyful taste, the red hots seemed so-so. i had been stifled. i prayed that one day i’d arrive.
i can’t begin to explain the absolute joy that coursed through my veins when it recently became fashionable to wear hair baubles. i rarely go into public arenas without some sort of obscenely loud and large, sparkly if i can help it, hair accessory. i’m fairly certain i’m the only one who isn’t a scene kid or a toddler wearing these things, but i don’t even care.
so if you’re behind me in the movies and can’t see the screen due to the huge flower attached to my head, i’m sorry. you can take it up with my mother.