fashion firsts, volume 1: growing up “fresh”

First Fashion Memory:  This is actually my very first memory ever (how appropriate!)  I’m right around three years old, maybe a little younger, and my family is living in North Carolina because my dad was in the Marines.  My mom and I are in the car and I’ve got a takeout spaghetti container on my lap.  It’s warm on my bare legs.  I’m wearing a purple skirt (courduroy?) and matching purple jelly shoes.  Suddenly, my mom slams on the breaks (until recently, I thought we had gotten in an accident).  Spaghetti and red sauce are everywhere – even on my jellies!  I cry/sob/wail, unknowing that jellies need nothing more than a spray with the hose to be restored to their eighties awesomeness.  Since I could not say “purple” or “jellies” properly, I am actually crying/sobbing/wailing about my “PUWPLE GEWWIES!!!”  Aw – speech impediments are cute on toddlers (NOT for the courier I met with yesterday – yesh).

First First Day of School ‘Fit:  It was *HOT* and another testament to how I rocked the 80′s like no other!  A dress: white top with sweetheart neckline and super fresh puffy short sleeves; the skirt is black and white, some kind of print, with red rickrack trim.  I wore RED TIGHTS and black patent shoes.  My mom had french braided my long hair the night before and brushed it out in the morning, then it was in a half-ponytail adorned with a red, white, and black shoelace hair clip.

Don’t hate.

First Wardrobe Malfunction:  On my first first day of school, I tripped on my way into school after my mom dropped me off, and tore a wicked hole in my amazing red tights.  I spent the entire (half) day hiking up my tights and pulling down my dress in attempt to cover the offending rip.  I had fun and made friends, and officially cemented myself as “the pretty girl” but that didn’t stop me from bawling when my mom picked me up because apparently I thought she’d kill me for tearing the majestic tights.

First Time Considering a Career in Fashion:  I was 7-ish years old at Christmas time.  The only things I asked Santa for were Fashion Plates – and the real designer ones (NOT the barbie ones that my sister got, or the sports? ones my brother got – yuck!).  I played with them INCESSANTLY while wearing my mom’s Pick N Save cashier smock, belted with a woven hedband/belt I made in arts and crafts class, because apparently designers dress like they’re blind – and homeless?  I *just* decided to stalk ebay in search of these bad boys!

Pure early 90′s freshness. 

First Designer Moment:  It was the early 90′s and I was OBSESSED.  With LA Gear.  I had the sweetest shoes, just like the ones below, but in pale pink and white.  Lots of kids had these, sure, but did they have matching jeans?!  I think not.  These jeans were awesome beyond their time, and on the sexy side for my child self – pale blue denim with the side seam panels CUT OUT (!) and pink and white twisted fabric/shoelaces? to mirror the twists on my kicks holding the jeans together.  I DIE.  You could see skin – so scandalous!

You’re jealous; I know.

First Fashion Risk:  Picture 1996.  I’m 13 and superbly awkward.  I’ve got a variation of “The Rachel” atop my grape and since I’m not allowed to use a blowdryer or hairspray, it’s doing nothing for me.  Picking out and outfit for my cousin’s outdoor wedding in July, I select a black dress with brightly colored flowers on it.  Typical, I know.  But the shoes!  I surprised EVERYONE (in my head) by selecting black, low and chunky-heeled slides with panels of CLEAR plastic across the front!  Crazy, I know!  I am feeling sophistocated, stylish, and confident.  I get up the nerve to ask my aunt’s boyfriend’s son, who I’ve been in love with for a solid year, if I can cut in while he’s dancing with another cousin.  He says sure and she says, “Wait.  Who were you dancing with?  Usually we trade partners when you ‘cut in…’”  I am mortified.  I spend the duration of the song realizing that my outfit is not all that great, my skin is bad (I’m not allowed to wear makeup), and the humidity is at war with “The Rachel.”  It’s a low day in my adolescence.

Don’t fret; I’m searching for the incriminating pics!