labels

As a kid, I was a big time label girl.  Nearly anything with the Guess label on it was delicious to me.  Even puke-colored jeans, or ugly T-shirts that we found on the sale racks.  Because we never bought anything that wasn't on the sale rack.  Anything.  When I saw something with that ridiculous triangle hanging amidst the sale rack, I was elated.

I've been wondering lately if this devotion to brand was something I acquired because my parents were SO immune to it.  They could not ever see spending $50 for a pair of jeans that, to their eyes, were exactly the same as the $14.99 pairs.  Or was I simply seduced by the marketing of wet looking girls with sand on their perfect thighs and their bosoms busting out of femmed-up cowboy shirts?

I was in Hollister today, looking around for my E who has never had anything from the store, but is still wildly attracted by the aura surrounding it.  Who can blame her?  I stood there in the island hut, with its white shutters and plank floors, looking at all the super-soft T-shirts and sweatshirts, the aroma of coconut drifting all around me, and I wanted to buy the whole effing store.

But I left empty-handed.  Can you believe it?  My very own credit card like a gorgeous wet-looking girl nestled in my wallet, and I walked away.  Good God, have I grown up?  Am I that parent--the one who balks at the $50 hoodies and the skanky-looking models?  Yes, I am.