Monday , November 16, 2009
Style Icons: Rainbow Brite & the Color Kids
PART ONE: OPINING ABOUT AGING
A Mathematical Truth of Existence: if it's not one thing, there is a 100% chance that it is indeed the other. The Other. Sort of like "The Others" on LOST, only you. Weird!
In this case, the "one thing" is that, at 23, I'm still pretty young, and "the other" is that, at 23 (very soon to be 24), I'm not really all that young anymore. And I'm certainly not as young as I used to be, and I'm definitely not getting any younger. This is a shame. Youth suits me. Because I've only ever been really young, I've only ever behaved capriciously, poorly, recklessly. Youth deserves to be a bender. If you play youth too safe, you'll regret it later in life. You'll become one of those draggy old people who says "Youth is wasted on the young," which is true, but for other reasons. Clucking your teeth and judge-ily telling teenagers that "youth is wasted on the young" is the #2 buzzkill of all life, besides smoking a joint seaside with the dude of your dreams and then having your sesh get broken up by mean cops.
I could not have wasted my youth less if I tried. I mean, I did try. And I succeeded. I've spent my life feeling obligated to get messed up and not think decisions through, "getting it out of my system" is what I'll say to myself. Semi-ironically, it's a kind of mature take on things. I've chilled out a lot over the past few years, but still have a long ways to go before I hit "quitting smoking" age. I am ambivalent about this. Nobody ever says "oldness is wasted on the old." Oldness is all about inactivity, following rules, drinking responsibly, not doing drugs, going to bed at 10:30 PM, eating Fibre 1, and considering a new episode of Grey's Anatomy one of life's great pleasures. Oldness is not something that one can relish in. Oldness is the punishment.
Though nine out of ten psychics and sages agree that I am an "old soul," I am also "young at heart." Like nine out of ten Canceminis (and ten out of ten Libras), I am characterized by many such wonky dualities. My very essence is, essentially, paradoxical. Grizzled as my soul may be, my heart is a thirteen-year-old stoner boy. I am scrappy, majorly dig on baby animals, suck at paying attention, listen to rock music too loud in my bedroom, only eat sugar, sleep on dinosaur-print sheets, dress like Rainbow Brite, and feel like crying whenever I have to do actual work.
Sometimes, I actually do cry. I fucking hate work.
PART TWO: I THOUGHT I WAS THE NEW RAINBOW BRITE, HE THOUGHT
When I was fourteen years old, my favourite outfit in the world was:
A sleeveless red Emily the Strange hoodie with devil horns on the hood (I wore the hood up); a navy blue t-shirt from GapKids with a photograph of a dog taken with a fisheye lens on the front; a grey pleated miniskirt; fluorescent yellow stockings printed with red stars; gobs of plastic pony-bead necklaces; also, some candy necklaces; gobs of plastic pony-bead bracelets; pigtails; stick-on earrings worn beneath my eyes, like Sailor Moon; Sweet Georgia Brown roll-on body glitter rubbed all over my face and forearms (seriously, isn't that fucking weird? Every morning, I put body glitter on my forearms. Why? It doesn't make sense); too much black eyeliner; cheapie perfume meant to smell like Gummi Bears or Cotton Candy or Cherry Coke or whatevs; and, the really hideous type of skate shoes that are as wide as they are long. Mine were Vans. With orange shoelaces.
I looked cool, or maybe horrible. My parents did not know what to make of this. Can you imagine? They had no vernacular with which to process how their baby all of a sudden dressed like what would happen if Frank Zappa mated with an alien toddler inside a broken kaleidoscope, on MDMA, on Judgment Day. And I was also very sullen.
On one occasion, I was sporting the outfit described above on the school bus; an eleventh-grader who may or may not have been named Travis, and fancied himself quite the thug, began to sing an impromptu rap about my wack-attack outfit. The refrain went "Special Tights/Special Tights/She thinks she's the new Rainbow Brite." Although I'm still sure it was ill-intentioned, looking back, it doesn't sound that hateful. It's accurate, actually. My tights were special! And while I did not think myself to be "the new Rainbow Brite" (that would have been utter craziness!), she was a noted Style Icon of mine.
Travis' rap made me want to die. I blushed like crazy, said nothing, and decided that his motives were to punish me for my homeliness. But, as is the destiny of all irrational self-loathing, my hypothesis died. A girl killed it. She was an at-the-time unimaginably cool (or, "kool") seventeen year old. Mere minutes after "Special Tights" made its debut, Girl stopped me on the street to fawn over my kooky kuteness and snap a photo of me. I told her what had happened, and gave me some inspirational advice about embracing my individuality. It all came full circle. I learned a valuable lesson that day:
Losers may think you're a loser, but cool people will always think you're cool.
PART THREE: THE SARTORIAL SYNTACTIC HIERARCHY OF RAINBOW BRITE CHIC, AND SOME PSYCHOANALYSIS
When I was twenty-one and going through Round One of anorexia recovery, my taste for the Rainbow Brite aesthetic resurfaced. It was a palpable FUCK YOU to my disease- when I was sick, I dressed like a Normie bitch. The Elisabeth Hasselbeckification of my personal style at that time really elucidates how thoroughly my illness stole my soul.
Rehabilitating myself that first March of being twenty-one, I dressed like even more of a madman than I did at fourteen. At fourteen, I dressed like Rainbow Brite to deflect attention from my perceived "hideousness." At twenty-one, I dressed like Rainbow Brite to aggressively communicate everything about me that was not my physical self. There's way less chance that strangers are going to make some fucked up comment about your boniness if they're making some fucked up comment about your insane outfit. Neither option is great, but the latter is way more bearable.
Recovery is a revelation. It is an uncertain, merciless process, but is ultimately irrefutable- food tastes awesome! There is no greater strength than that which comes from accepting weakness, from owning fragility. There is ferocity in it. I am experiencing it these very days; I find it thrilling and empowering to know that, while strangers may see me as a victim, I am in reality a force of nature.
PART FOUR: TYING UP LOOSE ENDS
At twenty-three, I wear whatever I feel like wearing, whenever I feel like wearing it. I stress about not dressing grown up enough, but, over the course of my writing this, I've realized that my real fear is of not being allowed to dress like Rainbow Brite anymore. A thirty-five year old in a fluoro-striped sundress and glitter bangles? Not really all that cute.
Time heals all wounds, as they say, but I don't want this one to close up. My blood pours red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. It is made of star sprinkles. Ponies fly out of my nailbeds!
Murky Dismal and Lurky, Rainbow Brite & the Color Kids' archnemeses, live in a gloomy castle called The Pits. They hate everything colorful. They want to steal all the color out of the world. They are like Normies, and Anna Wintour! And I will defeat them.
I think I'm the new Rainbow Brite.
Tags: aging, Anna Wintour's death, Canceminis, color, colour, eating disorder awareness, eating disorder recovery, Emily the Strange, Fibre 1, Fuck you Elisabeth Hasselbeck, I Was A Fourteen Year Old Candy Raver, Judgment Day, Libras, MDMA, Normies, Rainbow Brite, self-acceptance, special tights, the Color Kids, youth, youth is a bender
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9 Comments!!
Say something so insightful and witty, it will blow us away. (No pressure.)
Got something to say? We'd love to hear it! Name, email and "type in the weirdo drunken text" thingie are all required to comment; don't worry, we won't email you or anything, we just want to make sure you're not an evil spambot. Keeping in mind the good-times mentality we like to keep going here, we've worked hard to keep NOGOODFORME.COM as fun as possible. We welcome all kinds of comments, but insults/abuse/general bitchery are not tolerated. In other words, we put the smackdown on evil troll posts. If you want to be a hater, please go elsewhere. Now, as Salt 'N Pepa say, "Only the sexy people..."
You're still a spring chicken -- go to town, dress crazy!
Sincerely, someone who is 41. :-)
By WendyB on May 19, 2009 3:44 PM
(stands and applauds)
By Jill on May 19, 2009 4:06 PM
You're my hero, Laura Jane. Fuck the naysayers: you can be one of those cool grannies who rocks cat-eye glasses and dozens of bangles well into her golden years.
And that you continue to speak about your battle with anorexia is so moving. I've dealt with depression and general anxiety disorder, and I wish I could be as open as you are. When you suffer in silence, you continue the stigmatization of the illness. Way to go against the grain.
By Kristen on May 19, 2009 4:11 PM
I assume that is "the new Rainbow Brite" in the picture? I want those sunglasses! They rock!
By Oonafey on May 19, 2009 5:11 PM
Dude! They're Matthew Williamson for H&M! They can be yours!
By Laura
on May 19, 2009 5:18 PM
Thank you so much, Wendy, Jill & Kristen! Your kindness & support means the world to me.
I am so motivated by the awesomeness of the awesome readers of nogoodforme dot awesome dot com!
WHOOOOOOOOOOO I LOVE TODAY! I WISH EVERY DAY WAS NOGOODFORME.COM'S BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
By Laura
on May 19, 2009 5:22 PM
so in the new issue of 'elle' elizabeth wurtzel has this article about aging, and she quotes that "youth is wasted on the young" bit too, only her article's way self-pitying and would probably be really depressing if i weren't able to read it and go, 'god, it's so great that the world has laura jane faulds to be the awesomely exact opposite of elizabeth wurtzel!'
this is one of my favorite post of yours ever, fyi & btw. i wish it were also a book.
By Liz
on May 20, 2009 2:35 PM
Blown away, yet again, by the amazingness that is the recent string of LJF for NGFM.com posts.
I am always impressed with girls 20s & up who can incorporate colors on such a scale. I am in my Mid-20s and it completely inspires me to go buy more rainbow brite-esque pieces. PERSONALLY, I think we could all use a bit more color.
By tahda on May 21, 2009 7:22 PM
i really needed to read this today!
yr great, lj.
By lizth on May 24, 2009 6:36 PM