If you were to look back over your life with the intention of writing an autobiography centered around fashion, how would your finished product read?
I can only speak for myself, but in retrospect I would probably spend more time laughing than writing.
I can’t relay much about the sixties, being a little bitty thing, but the seventies scream across the decades as one of the elitist times in American history.
How could you think otherwise? C’mon, you can’t tell me you haven’t idolized the leisure suits, the platform shoes and my favorite, the iconic striped bell bottoms?
And, there’s no way you could deny the colossal superiority of the number one form of music since early man pounded on a hollow log for entertainment. It is none other than “DISCO.”
Please pardon me while I take a much-needed break in order to vomit my rendition of the seventies.
How about them eighties? Parachute pants, glam rock, goofy hairstyles, brick sized cell phones and the crème de le crème, the mullet.
Who remembers the nineties?… Actually… yawn… excuse me, but that decade is easier to forget.
I believe that’s enough to get you started on your own spectacular odyssey.
I’ll keep my eye out for the next unimaginably stellar bestselling autobiographical novel. I’m sure your name will grace the cover.
Until next time…toodles.