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...
This is the outfit Claudia helped me to choose: a white tank top under lavender overalls, lavender push-down socks, lavender high-top sneakers, and a beaded Indian belt, which we looped droopily twice around my middle. In my hair we put lavender-and-white clips that looked like birds. I thought they were just any kind of bird, but Claudia swore up and down that they were birds of paradise. Who knows? (I think she was making that up.)"
"Don't doubt the master, Dawn," is what Kim has to say about this. Kim speculates that Claudia is simply
a super-tranny from Transylvania who is not apologizing for it. Seriously though, you know Claudia grew up to be the woman who, after spending the night with a man, sneaks out of bed at 5am and spends an hour making herself all glowing and tousled and sexified and then sneaks back into bed all "what? I always look like this in the morning!" I, on the other hand, don't even bother to wipe the drool off my pillow. Love me, love my excessive amounts of drool, that's what I say.
I say that too! God, I totally have like a drooling problem, come to think of it, but that's another post. Anyway, I never would have figured any of this out about myself if not for the awesome influence of Claudia Kishi.