Did you have any celebrity crushes when you were 12? Come on. I know you did. Me? Oh, I watched Family Ties religiously back in 1980-something every week, and I had like, you know, a major crush on Michael J Fox. Alex P Keaton to be exact. Marty McFly too. Let’s just say my friends and I saw Back to the Future in the movie theater five too many times.
So I did what any pre-teen would do and wrote a fan letter to Michael J Fox. I found his address from Tiger Beat magazine. (Along with thousands of other girls, I’m sure.) In my form fan letter, I asked him if he’d ever consider marrying me. I also told him I thought he was a total fox.
In case you haven’t guessed, I never heard back. (Maybe it was the “fox” comment?)
The good news is, celebrity crushes come and go. Although my heart was wrecked because I would never become Mrs. Alex P. Keaton, I moved on. I became obsessed with Kevin Bacon. You know, Ren from the original Footloose? I never wrote a letter to him. But I pinned a lot of his posters up (thanks to Tiger Beat) in my room. Just think. For a time, my wall was only one degree separated from Kevin Bacon.
So, yeah, I guess I had an obsession for celebrities. Maybe I still do? Thankfully, my husband of 24 years is understanding about my celebrity “friends”.
It’s not like I ever sent Carrie, Samantha, Miranda or Charlotte fan mail. I only fold laundry and laugh along with them as they banter over brunch, being their stylish selves, chatting about everything from sex to the city.
My husband will walk in while I’m in the middle of folding to remind me, “You know they don’t know you.”
As if that has anything to do with it.
I mean I don’t get THAT crazy about celebrities any more. Well. There was that time I saw George Strait in concert and Faith Hill was a surprise opener. My husband recorded me as I cried tears of joy in the middle of This Kiss. To be fair I was on my second beer and it had been a very long week.
I also get excited about celebrity and royal babies. (I’m still shaking my head over Apple. Was Gwyneth fond of fruit?)
So when I was on Poshmark a couple weeks ago, my favorite fashion online consignment store, I didn’t think it would be any big deal that I waited for a pair of Tory Burch flats to go on sale. I was super busy with other work, suffering from writer’s block and passed on them when I learned the price. Then when I received a special discount offer via direct message, I realized I HAD to have them. They’re white, green and navy with a nautical rope pattern and well, they’re Tory. So I made an offer. After hitting purchase, I noticed it was from a Posher named Jen Lancaster. The name sounded familiar. Too familiar. Wait. Could it be THE Jen Lancaster? Nah. Then I read her About the Posher bio and IT WAS THE FAMOUS AUTHOR! You may have heard of her? She has written tons of books from Bright Lights, Big Ass to Bitter is the New Black. As if the titles don’t spell it out, she’s very witty, snarky and dry. She never holds back and she was quite an inspiration to me when I first started blogging. (I appreciate how she and I both reference characters from John Hughes movies, because they, after all, are so intricately tied to childhood memories.) So, she’s a bad ass author and she owned the shoes. And she was selling them to me! Oh m Gee! And she was following me on Poshmark? Shut the front door!
I immediately turned 16. Well, 13. I sent her a direct message and explained that I was a fan, but not a crazy fan and how she inspired me, yadda yadda yadda. Which, now when I look back on it, probably made me sound like a crazy person. Fan-effing-tastic. But guess what? She not only mailed me the adorable shoes, she included a handwritten thank you note, a pair of earrings and a copy of her book called Things I’d Tell in Bars. It was so thoughtful.
No Tiger Beat magazine or fan form letter involved. It was a sign. It had to be, right? Of what, you ask? That I needed a pair of Jen Lancaster’s Tory flats to give me the kick in the (big) ass to get back to writing here. My home blog base for writing out loud. Thank you, Jen!