Warning: staring directly at apparel may cause permanent damage to corneas.
My daughter is now eight, so I’m happy to report that I’m done with globe-headed Caillou, that whiny little fuck, and Chuck E. Cheese, the flea-bitten, steroidal, rat-boy. These are massive plusses in my book, and they brought me as much joy as did throwing out the rectal thermometer.
However, these parental joys are balanced out by a new horror: having to enter the black hole of ugliness – the Justice store. This mall chain caters to suburban tweenage (I want to shoot myself just typing that “word”) girls with an affinity for neon and shiny objects. The stores themselves are infinitely dense nuggets of tween fashion trends collapsed inward by the weight of their day-glow hideousness. If Tim Gunn were merely to glance into one, his eyeballs would liquefy and melt down his cheeks.
This stoned demon sparklepony
wants to steal your soul.
And I love Tim Gunn, so should I see him veer towards the garbage can in front of a Justice store, to throw away… I don’t know… his Annie’s Pretzels bag or Cinnibon box, I’d blindside tackle him in a heartbeat. Better he should deal with a minor concussion than liquefied eyeballs.
The clothes are also an assault to my eyes, but on the plus side, are so cheaply made, they fall apart after a couple of washes. So I don’t have to stare at the rainbow, zebra-print, tie-dyed, asymmetrical fringed hem, off-the shoulder crop-top with the giant scratch-and-sniff glitter peace sign for more than a few weeks.
There should be a rule about the number of trends one piece of clothing can have. I say the number should be two. Neon crop top? Fine. But then no sequins. Appliqued puppy and fringe? Then no goddamned glitter.
You know what? How about no glitter, PERIOD? Anywhere. Because glitter is a lifetime commitment. Until someone pioneers glitter that stays attached to whatever it’s applied to, I say it should be banned from use, like lead paint and asbestos.
Sorry, kids. Sorry, Martha Stewart. It will be tough for you at first, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. That’s justice for you.
K A B L O O E Y
K A B L O O E Y is a 47 year old non-practicing filmmaker who lives with Phineas at an undisclosed suburban location. Their three kids are Moochie (6), Lonzie (20) and The Big Puppy (22). She (who am I kidding, I’m writing this myself) tweets @kblooey and has two goals: 1) To make creative work a central part of my life, and 2) To keep my family from needing the services of the Supernanny.