We were talking the other night about how we dressed ourselves when we were children, between, like, 10 and 13 years of age. First up, here’s my darlin’ with a waist-length ponytail rockin’ a acid wash jean jacket whose vest portions were covered in an extraneous layer of frayed denim, tapered cotton pants, and purple velvet Air Jordans. When you’re this fabulous, the only way to accessorize is to play it down: a khaki backpack.
Then there’s me: uneven bowl cut, a dirty-pink Hobie Surf Monster t-shirt, inscrutable Jams, and knock-off All-Stars with an extraneous extra double high-top, for a color combination that induces nausea. Carrying my ever-present red Walkman, on which I played mixtapes made from the radio.