I wish I had saved a copy of the ad that changed my life. Sometimes when I think about it, I wonder what would have happened if I’d never stumbled upon it that day in Seventeen magazine. It might have been an ad for Clairol Herbal Essences Shampoo, Midol, or Bobbie Brooks- I don’t recall. One thing I do remember: the ad was purely aspirational. The image had nothing to do with the product being sold.
In the picture was a girl about my age with long, dark hair- like mine. She is sitting in a bean bag in her bedroom reading- again, something I did every day. Behind her is a modern Scandinavian bookcase, tall and neatly designed with open, square shelves that reach the ceiling. And in the bookcase… the life I wanted. Pictures of friends, a princess telephone, horseback riding (or tennis) trophies, books, pom-poms, an album cover, a stuffed animal, a sleek vase filled with bright paper flowers, a cool bubble lamp, more books- neatly arranged- this girl obviously had the life I coveted. I must have spent hours looking at that photo- it is so engraved in my memory.
It was probably patterned on the same principal as those massive wall illustrations I had as a toddler with a “country” scene on one side and a “city” scene on the other. Instead of picking out the ducks, chickens, tractors, taxis, airplanes, and fire trucks; however, I scrutinized this tableau for brand names, models, and titles, anything to reinforce my dream of perfection.
And there’s the problem. Perfection doesn’t exist. Tell that to my thirteen-year-old heart.
For years after I had a recurring fantasy- or nightmare- depending on how my neurotic ego was satisfied that day. I dreamt the “magazine people” would soon arrive to photograph a day in my life. I fretted, “What will they see?” So I decorated, cleaned, and arranged. I purchased a down comforter and an Italian duvet cover. I built a beautiful house on the Intracoastal Waterway with a sunset view. I drove a dark blue Mazda Miata convertible, and I had my hair cut by the best stylist in town. I coordinated my Christmas gift wrap with matching ribbons so as not to clash with my tastefully decorated living room, even though one of my cats once ate enough ribbon to have to be rushed to the vet. I wore only the finest clothes, and I was careful to have my suits professionally altered to suit my boxy frame. Once, soon after reuniting with Mama Shirley, I felt so obliged to prepare a gourmet meal for Mother Joyce and Papa John, I literally made myself so ill that I had to excuse myself from Christmas dinner with a fever of 102 degrees.
In short, those damn magazine people never came, but I knocked myself out working for them.
Girls (you know who you are), don’t make your Aunt Freda’s mistake. Look at that magazine picture. Say, “That’s nice.” But don’t aspire to things you only imagine might satisfy, and don’t trust that the things you see are things you really need. Whatever you do, don’t measure your success or happiness by those things. Trust me, it won’t work. Mama Shirley, always quick to break it down, says, “Don’t judge the insides by the outsides.”Now that I think about it, the girl in that picture never owned any of that stuff, either. I wonder whatever happened to her.
Oh YEAH, good one! Where are those magazine people – I say bring it on! But if they ever come photograph my srcappy life, I’d give ’em a dose of reality. Wait, better yet, I’ll BE one of those magazine people and do it myself! Trash fashion, anyone? It’s so glamorous!
Wait a minute…don’t make us magazine people the bad guys! If it makes you feel better, though, I admit that when we go to photograph a house we bring in hundreds of dollars of flowers and props, so what you see in magazines is enhanced reality. But I believe you can enjoy things without having to compare them to your own life…I’m in a lot of beautiful houses (with closets full of beautiful clothes) and I appreciate their world without being envious. It’s sort of like going to the art museum…I’m happy to visit an Edward Hopper, and it’s okay if I don’t own one. I’m all for having your own style!
No offense intended, magazine person 😉 It just took some of us slow learners a long time to reconcile the fact creating a beautiful world is an inside job. Incidentally, my vintage Murano glass is still well-displayed. And I agree, in my short stint in real estate, seeing all those closets was great, but I still prefer my own. (BTW, I didn’t realize you were in the biz- too funny)