My parents didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up in Seattle. They worked their asses off and still barely made ends meet. They gave me the best possible life they could: they sent me to the best schools, bought me things when they could afford it and let me take their Audi station wagon as my party mobile in high school. And by party mobile, I mean, transportation that took me to and from school and spent hours at the public library parking lot. For that, I will always be so grateful.
Fashion, however, was not high on their radar. Obviously.
I had short hair for most of my childhood because my mom had (still does) short hair. Unfortunately, there are too many pictures of both of us with similar hair cuts. This fucking ugly, graduated bowl cut, that maybe looked good on Dorothy Hamill in the 70’s, but COME ON!
Why would you do this to your only child?! Did you hate me this much?
As if this horrible hairstyle wasn’t enough, my parents poured salt in the wounds by dressing me in the fugliest clothes. They thought it was cute if they dressed me as a little adult. Take the above picture for example. I remember this dress. It was this poly-blend that was itchy as fuck. The worst, though, was that stupid necktie thing.
When I’d wear this dress out in public, parents would nod and smile and then look away quickly as they giggled under their breaths. Their goddamned kids, however, wouldn’t even bother to stifle their laughter. Kids would ask me if I was going to work and where my briefcase was. If they weren’t all so much bigger than me, I would’ve kicked them in the nads.
Oh my God – looking at this picture truly pains me and reminds me to send my parents’ the bill for all my therapy in college.
Don’t mind me – I’m just putting on an Ed Hardy shirt with some harem pants.