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Someone named Kim has founded a blog analyzing the outfits of Claudia Kishi of the Baby-Sitters Club. Every single post is stirring these long-dormant emotions. Emotions that formed the basis of my very identity. Seriously, Claudia...where to begin? She was Japanese-American. She was only 12, but her awesome ensembles made her look at least fifteen. Claudia was wacky, unfiltered, studied and deliberate and sophisticated and truly outrageous all at once. Claudia was Harajuku before Harajuku; ahead of her time. Leggings! Feathers! Beads! Boots! I am glad Claudia was in middle school when I was eight, out of the age range of working at American Apparel. Claudia was a free spirit. Once Claudia was shown up by Stacey's friend Laine, who lived in Manhattan and dressed all in black. Laine looked at least nineteen. But Laine was sad, there was something tragic and vulnerable in all her snotty minimalism; Claudia possessed the carefree Whatthefuckery of the suburbs. I was never a Claudia girl; in fact, most of my post adolescent life has been about rejecting Claudia's sort of zany excess. As a kid I fancied myself more of a Dawn, actually. Remember when Claudia helped Dawn get dressed when they went on that Disney Cruise in the first Super Special? You will... More »
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