The American Girl Company came out with a 70s doll!
Wish I had a granddaughter so I could pretend to buy one for her and keep it for myself. The doll’s wearing bellbottoms…. makes me wanna say ”Groovy”! They’re back! The fashions of the 70’s, they’re back! Well, where the hell have I been? I just did not know they were ever gone.
Lots of moons ago, in the early 90’s after my Dad died, I had to clean his house out so we could sell it. The only 2 sons I could still catch and some of their friends came to help.
They got a real kick out of the BB gun he shot squirrels with, and we didn’t live out in the country, this was a NJ suburb!
Eventually, I discovered my old hope chest. Remember them? Oh yes you do, don’t lie to ME. I kept clothes in mine; I was hoping to get a real chest in those days.
Anyway, the girls pulled out my 70’s bell bottom jeans with the suede patches, gauzy blouses that gave me the whole ethereal Stevie Nicks look (in my mind), platform shoes, long leather boots that cost a whole week’s pay back in the day, big floppy hats that looked great on top of my long frizzy red hair, gypsy skirts, filmy scarves, (again, going for the Stevie look), beaded necklaces, everything but a tambourine. I don’t know what happened to that.
And they laughed
and laughed. In their camouflage
parachute pants, combat boots, shapeless t-shirts, Goth make-up, teased hair
with that rooster comb bang thing going on, they laughed and laughed.
Androgynous sluts.
Fast forward to 2 years ago. I’m shopping in a fashion-forward clothing store. Fashion-forward means wear it a couple of times, wash it, and throw it away. A fellow post-memorypauser and I are looking through the latest shipment of 70’s inspired fashions - bells, gauzies, gypsies, floppies, filmies, hoop earrings big enough to use as bracelets, ethereal, Stevie Nicks at her coke snorting skinniest looking clothes, and talking about how good we used to look in them. You know, back in the day.
The manager of the store was, I dunno, 12, 13? About 62 pounds? No boobs, no hair, belly ring showing. (I think her Indian name was “Stick of Many Piercings”). She overheard us and she laughed and laughed.
When I told her to shut up ‘cuz next year she’d be tucking her low-rise jeans into long leather boots that cost a week’s pay, she laughed so hard she doubled over into the size of an palmetto bug. So I stepped on her.
Androgynous slut.
