As I enjoyed a pedicure last weekend, sitting next to a 6 year-old and her mother having a little Girl’s Day Out pampering, another adult asked the child, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Ahhh, the age-old, never-fail kid conversation-starter… Great question!! Especially for a person who, up until this discussion, has been making decisions largely based on favorite colors and cartoon characters. The little gal squirmed and giggled and finally, having let her mind run through the very limited number of professions that she is even aware of at this point, came up with: a Ballerina.
When I was a child (about her age: 5 or 6), I can remember being asked this same question. It was easier for me to run through a short list of what I didn’t want to be when I grew up. Cop, Nurse, Firefighter, Flight Attendant (okay, we said ‘Stewardess’ at the time) and even Ballerina were out. I gravitated toward answers like: Farmer, Railroad Conductor, and occasionally threw in Lumberjack. This was one of the first clues that denim was an ever-present priority for me from as far back as I can remember. I had no interest in pursing any uniformed professions (as I knew them), unless that uniform included denim.
I went on to wear private school uniforms beginning in Kindergarten and finally burning every last polyester piece in celebration upon graduating high school. During those years, I wore some form of denim almost every Halloween: creating and then reprising in subsequent years the dirty-denim hobo, the overalls-wearing farmer, the bell-bottom-clad hippie. For portraits, I always chose something denim (often more than one piece & sadly not yet recognizing the importance of styling in my early years) and remember a particularly jubilant birthday celebration when I turned 8 and received a perfect pair of denim sneakers – I thought I’d never need another pair of shoes as long as I lived!
Every time I was involved in a fundraiser or idea-committee in high school, my first suggestion was always a ‘dress-down’ day (where a student could pay to wear whatever clothes they wanted instead of the uniform that day), sometimes even pushing the envelope to rally for a month-long dress-down pass.
Over the years, I have either renounced or embraced every denim trend and then changed my mind about each one countless times. Anyone who has known me at nearly any stage of my life will tell you: I love to dress up, but I’d die without my denim.
So, here I am. All grown up. Enjoying my denim as much as I ever have & helping other chicks find a little place in their hearts that denim can fill perfectly. Welcome to the blog. I’m so excited to have you along…