I have never been a slave to fashion trends, apart from those few unfortunate years in high school when big hair and “preppy” collars were all the rage. Wanting to fit in as a teenager led to unfortunate wardrobe choices and spectacular photographic evidence that seems to keep reappearing. Even the fires of Hell could not burn those outfits from my memory. (Somehow I think the pictures and the negatives would survive incineration as well.)
After leaving high school and finding myself in the “real” world, I came to the realization that I could care less about fashion. I was happier slipping on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and sliding my feet into some loose-fitting sandals. While the girls around me spent hours teasing their hair, applying make-up and picking just the right outfit, I would be dressed and ready to go and waiting for them to emerge from their cosmetic cocoon as a beautiful painted butterfly. I admired their dedication, I just didn’t understand their obsession. Give me a tube of mascara and some lip gloss and I’m set.
I’m sure there were moments in my impressionable years that I wished I was more like a Barbie Doll. Now that I can look at my life from an adult perspective I realize the world needs Raggedy Ann’s as much as it needs Barbie Dolls and I’m happy to be one of those Ann’s.