I fell in love the very first time when I was eight. I wish I could say that music was my first love. See, I’m a “too cool for school” kid, it would be a perfect match for me to say something like that. But unfortunately I didn’t care about music back then as much as I do now.
I had no idea what I would become. All I wanted was to become a princess when I was older. In fact, I still want to become one.
We were about to travel to Italy and my mother went shopping with little me. She bought me my first mini skirt. It was perfect: blue as the ocean, with little flowers on it. The material was so silky, it caressed my skin. I felt like an “it” girl – well, if I had known the definition of an “it” girl back in the 90s.
I wore it every day. The Italians fell for me – the little blond, blue eyed girl with the fancy skirt, smiling bright as the sun. When I grew older – and taller – I had to stop wearing it. I put it in a box, crying more than a bit about it. The first broken heart of so many to follow.
I still fall passionately in love with clothes. When I see shoes on a display I can’t sleep for nights. I can only find peace when I buy them – asap. I traveled the world to buy the perfect hoodie. People don’t understand my “hunting,” but in the end I love nothing more than fashion. Or I love nothing more than the thought of finding a skirt like the one I found ten years ago.
No matter how many pencil skirts, leather skirts or hippie dresses I buy, I wish my first love would still fit me.