The summer I turned 13 I loved two things: a boy named Ben and a movie called Pretty in Pink.
Ben was blond and beautiful and brilliant. A water polo player with floppy hair and mischievous blue eyes. Very Zach Morris. He was that preternaturally cool man-child that walks into a room and owns it. He took my breath away.
We met in a summer school drama class where he was the star pupil and I was the shy girl in Bart Simpson tshirts (no you can't see pictures!) During the school year, Ben went to Our Lady of Malibu. I found this endlessly hilarious and told him every time he said his school's name I pictured Mary surfing. Ben didn't laugh at my jokes much that summer - wah. But he did give me my first kiss - yay.
That summer was straight out of a John Hughes movie. It was equal parts angsty and thrilling, painful and blissful. Everything just felt so NEW. It was after all the beginning of my so called life as a teenager.
Is it weird that John Hughes movies gave me a reference point for being a teenager? It's just that I didn't grow up with an extended family around me. More importantly, I didn't grow up with an American mother.
I had one that had grown up in a different country and culture. And to add insult to injury, she went to a convent school and was pure as the driven snow. She would've slapped a chastity belt on me the minute I hit puberty if she had her way.
Whenever I asked my mom to do something all my friends were doing, she looked at me like I was from another planet. She would say that's not how you did things in Guatemala. I would always retort, Well, we're not in Guatemala. We're in America. You came here for me, remember? I guess I had the bitchy, talking back part of being an American teenager down pat. F.
The summer of 1991, I was also coming into my own style. I already subscribed to Vogue. I was making loads of mistakes (think tight bike shorts) but even I KNEW the dress Andie designed for prom was a hot mess. I would never ever have donned that pepto bismal nightmare to woo Ben.
All these memories flooded me today when I found out on Twitter that John Hughes, one of our great American storytellers, died. The man that gave us Jake Ryan and Ferris Bueller is gone. Seriously, where would we be as thirtysomethings without those two characters embedded in our psyches?
I think we have John Hughes to thank for 90210 and Gossip Girl. For Hollywood realizing the teenage experience makes for great entertainment. So much drama balanced with comedy.
Particularly sad that childhood icons are passing away this summer, right as fashion is on the brink of having a major 80s moment.
Marc by Marc Jacobs top
J Crew skirt
Filene's Basement cardigan
Fashion District bangles
Nothing like a Marc by MJ top for days when you don't feel like thinking about your clothes.
Marc's prints are so fanciful and bold that you can throw them on and make a statement without much effort.
These are two of my all time favorite pieces that I own. So fresh and flirty and just plain fun.
The Marc by MJ stuff for fall isn't my fave.
But I thought the Marc Jacobs 80s redux was brilliant. Can't wait to channel Grace Jones.
And don't even get me started on the yumminess that is Resort 2010.
If Marc prints aren't your thing
Keep an eye on Corey Lynn Calter
Or visit your local Anthropologie.
Was dying to wear my Manolos again today. But donned these summery Fendi espadrilles instead.
Couldn't resist slipping the Manolos on today when I got home. LOOK at how cool they will look with the same outfit. LOVE LOVE LOVE!