In hindsight, I think I failed miserably, and the only thing that shorts-overall piece of clothing did for me was give me a camel toe that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
But I wanted so bad to be someone else.
John Hughes is gone, and I'm not ashamed to admit that what he created shaped a large chunk of my psyche (not to mention fashion sense) and was a crucial part of making me the 'off-the-hook' (your words, thank you very much whoever it was), eccentric, part-time hermit I am today.
Kudos? Or, it wasn't all your fault mother, after all?
I am joking mom, no need for an email.
I'm especially reminded of what it was like for a teenager to move to Savannah, Georgia with only such movies as Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller's day off and The Breakfast Club to inform her on how to act, how to be, and how to walk and talk American.
Not to mention the classic television series Roseanne. But those stories are perhaps better left unpoked at.
That teenager was quite lost in the big United States of America. Especially since she was there in the early 90s, while the films reflected the society of the early 80s, and although she was in one of the states of all of the united states in North America, she might as well have been in Algeria, for all of the correspondences between the 80s delightfully neighborly and suburban Illinois, and the 90s afraid of 'racial violence' gated community of Georgia she was able to draw on.
She was quite lost in the big United States of America.
She longed for a friend like the adoring, and quirky Duckie Dale, and for a boyfriend who would be one part Ferris Bueller, one part John Bender and the rest Jake Ryan (mostly his looks, other than that he seemed a tad empty), and to be either Sam Baker or Andie Walsh, both of whom she so identified with.
Little did she know that for the teens out there, amongst whom she looked for those types, she represented a wholly different stereotype from a teen comedy: The Foreigner.
The one who is always the butt of jokes, the one who doesn't understand a word that is being said, the one who sports impressive amounts of facial hair for a woman or a completely weird milk-maid or nerdy hair-do, or the one who will have sex with anyone, anywhere, anytime.
Like Long Duk Dong of Sixteen Candles.
Although not Japanese like the Donger, she was quite lost in the big United States of America.
And she didn't look pretty in pink. She looked like a little piggy. But perhaps she was the better for it, and more quirky.
I wanted to be her and hang out with them. (I actually photographed my DVD cover for this)
I'm off to watch Sixteen Candles now and cry just a little for Hughes and for that teenager who luckily remained herself in the end. Yes, wine will be involved.
Have a good weekend! See you back here on Monday.