I asked for perfume for Christmas and because my family is so awesome, I got a ton. Say what you will about me but I always smell like a candy angel got drunk and rolled around in a field of wildflowers. Wait, is that good? Anyway, I really like Marc Jacobs perfume. All of them really. I love the way they smell but more than that, I love love love the bottles. I'm completely aware that they look like they were designed by a first-grader who pairs her purple tutu with a Hello Kitty backpack to go get a sparkly mani/pedi at the mall with her mom. Look, I know. I knoooooow. But I like them. So who cares, right?
The problem is, I think I do. I think I care. Or I think I'm starting to. I'm not saying there's anything at all wrong with a grown woman liking immature girly things. You like what you like. You should be true to yourself. I firmly believe that. But I'm afraid I'm growing up. I'm afraid I'm (here comes a terrible word, brace yourself) maturing because while I was packing for our New Year's trip a month back, I had a moment where I saw myself like fifteen-year-old me would see myself. I was texting my friend on my gummy bear phone, wearing a 'Darth Vader blowing a pink bubble' t-shirt and heart-shaped sunglasses trying to decide if I should pack both my Dark Crystal tee and my Ghostbusters tee in my heart covered Betsy Johnson overnight bag. HOLY SHIT, AM I CHARLIZE THERON IN YOUNG ADULT? I thought. And then I tried to climb into my heart covered Betsy Johnson overnight bag but there wasn't any alcohol in there so I climbed back out.
Seriously, it gave me pause.
I like my novelty tees. I like my gummy bear phone case. I like my perfume bottles. But the effect of all of them all at once is starting to make me feel a little silly. So I made a resolution that I'd dress more like an adult this year. I ordered some "mature shirts" from my favorite website to get ready. (Not Golden Girls mature, you guys! Well, except one of them is totally polyester and ties at the neck. I'm such a Blanche!) It's going okay. Some days I put on a blouse and boots and I feel good. Some days I put on a hoodie and some Chucks and I also feel good. But, it's something that's been on my mind. I always envisioned myself as an adult in a pencil skirt and stilettos running to catch a train clutching a sleek travel coffee mug and a designer bag, not trudging to the coffee shop in ripped jeans and Nike Airs clutching a laptop case with birds on it and an Ewok Kindle case.
My birthday will be here in half a second. The years are going by so fast it's making the Papa Smurf on my desk uncomfortable and that dude is oooold. How much quirky is too much quirky for your late thirties?
I don't have an answer. For now my solution is to throw a blazer on over that Darth Vader tee and to only wear my giant dinosaur necklace with more somber looking dresses. I'm trying to find balance. I want to feel like a responsible grown-up but I also need my Ewoks to get me through this wacky crazy beautiful awful life. I'm working on it.
But, the perfumes stay. I mean, look how cute they are!