(1989) Dear Paula Abdul L.A. Gear sneakers,
You were blindingly white and covered in pink and purple trim, and you just sucked me in during the first second of that flashy commercial where Paula does a fairly tame imitation of the “Cold Hearted” video. You were the female version of Zack Morris' clunky hightops. The Berlin Wall came down, and still, you obstructed my view with your skating-rink neon colors. You were Straight Up.
(1993) Dear over-sized sweater and matching stirrup pants from County Seat (audible gagging),
Gross. I wore you with white socks and brown pennyloafers from the Bass outlet store. But frankly, I don't think you were worth the paltry coinage in those shoes. You were either navy blue or a vomity dusty rose color; more often than not the sweater was patterned in some hideous cross-cultural hybrid of a Navajo print and a Swiss ski sweater. I also had a perm at this time. I have absolutely nothing to say about that or the stirrup pants.
(1996) Dear chartreuse 'Juliet Dress' from the Delia's catalog,
I coveted you. In between the pages of glitter nail polish, platform oxfords and corduroy carpenter pants, you were there in all your empire-wasted glory, hanging from a swizzle-stick teenage model with stringy waist-length brown hair. After I wore you to the sophomore Homecoming dance, you stayed in every clothing drawer I ever owned, languishing with my senior class t-shirt (which now barely even covers one boob. Sniff).
(2001) Dear stupid black platform flip-flops,
You were only popular for a season or two, and thank god for small favors. Sporting that sky-high foam sole was like wearing a black steak strapped to my foot. You hung out in my various closets for way too long, hunkered down in dusty corners, until I trotted you off to Goodwill. I should have kept you, the way one keeps a leisure suit - to dig out and giggle at, incredulously, 20 years later.
(2004) Dear dark green flouncy skirt with useless dangling gold hardware,
I bought you at Wet Seal while it was still acceptable for me to shop there. I proceeded to wear you with a harrowing combination of pieces: black satin jacket, black tights, pink stilettos and matching pink clutch. Wherever you are, you are covered in various cigarette burns and the clear stains of Absolut Mandarin presses. Oy vey.
