Big Yellow Forehead

What's in a name?

I've just realized that I never explained the name of this blog! Below is the beginning of a series of blogs to follow explaining the name of my blog...

Back in the Day...

When I was in elementary school, I was this sweet little thing (though mean sometimes, as all kids are). I had excellent grades, parents who were involved in everything from school to athletics to Girl Scouts. They knew my friends' parents, and got along quite well with them. My mom and dad were still married until late in my 3rd grade school year, so I always had cute little pigtails and coordinating barrettes.

Once my parents divorced, I turned into a real ragamuffin. I lived with my father, whom I love dearly, but who doesn't know very much about the hygiene of little girls. He didn't know how to do my hair correctly, so I was often left to my own devices, looking like a girl who lived with just her father and little brother (think 1990s LL Cool J commercial with his daughter). "My fingers are too big to braid your hair," my dad would say.

I had this wild hair. It was really thick, and incredibly wavy, but manageable under the right conditions. For some reason, only my mother was able to find these conditions. My father's girlfriends had no clue how to manage this wild hair. They put gel on it, the wrong barrettes in it, and called it a day. I knew that it was all wrong, but I didn't know how to fix it... but I still tried.

By middle school, I was not so sweet. I don't know too many middle schoolers who are! My grades started to slip from the straight A's of elementary school, I was lazy, and I was too wrapped up in pop culture. I was definitely boy crazy back then, and tried my darnedest to have them Alexis crazy. Unfortunately, this ploy failed on numerous occasions.

I was a big dork.

I should have been sentenced for life by the fashion police. I only got new shoes every two years, and the shoes I owned I wore EVERYWHERE. I had this pair of Adidas with the silver stripes and NO ankle support whatsoever for two years. Those were my favorite. They came with a matching key chain.

My father did not allow me to wear certain things to school. I was allowed to wear jeans (not the tight Parasuco's that were popular during that time), sneakers, and either a t-shirt or a sweatshirt/running jacket. Nothing more. Nothing less. God forbid I look like a 12-year old girl.Despite the fact that we were an athletic household, I was not allowed to wear any athletic clothes. This rule was enacted when I wore a club volleyball jersey and warm-up suit to school one day. Never again.

I recalled this story while I was working at Ann Taylor last weekend:

My grandfather bought me two sweat suits for Christmas one year. One was highlighter yellow, and the other was bright blue. They didn't have hoods. That would have been too much. I HATED hoods as a child (they're a staple of my "Day Off" wardrobe, the evolution of my "First Class of the Day After Volleyball Practice" wardrobe.

I also had this pair of Reebok Princesses (these and the Classics were the hottest shoes of 1997). My mom bought them for me for like $19.99, and I was so excited. I was going to wear these shoes into the ground, like the many pairs of shoes before them. I just knew I was so cool.

Anyway, shortly after receiving these sweat suits, I wore them to school, to show off my coordination. Matching bright yellow sweatpants and sweatshirt, I headed to school that morning, oblivious to the fashion sin I was committing. Fortunately, my lack of fashion sense was soon observed by my classmates.

This one really fat, gay, speech impeded kid jumped on the opportunity to make fun of me. "Look at you. You're bright yellow! Your skin, and your clothes!" He then proceeded to sing "Mr. Sun" (though it sounded like "Mith-ter Thun"), invoking laughter from all of my classmates. Talk about a hit to your ego! I was absolutely humiliated. He was 100% correct. I was so light-skinned during that time of the year that I looked jaundiced (as the doctors thought I was at birth--- true story). The sweat suit gave a true yellow effect, blinding the innocent passerby. Now, I don't get embarrassed very easily, but I'll tell you that I most definitely was on this occasion. Here I thought I looked so cute in an outfit that my grandfather bought for me, while my classmates thought that I looked like a royal, bright yellow anus.

The irony of it all. Me remembering my lack of fashion sense in the 90s while standing in Ann Taylor, advising people on what to wear to keep up with the times while wearing classic styles.