If you're of a certain age - an age that sees very little that is hip or retro about the nightmare fashions we wore in the 80s; seriously, nightmare - odds are pretty much even that you had the same folder I did when you were growing up. And if you didn't, you wanted it like you had never wanted anything else in your life. (And if you didn't, dude, I don't even know you.)
You know the folder I'm talking about: MJ standing against a wall, looking ridiculously adorable in a horrible yellow sweater, a fake record sticking out of the top of the thing like you were carrying your spelling papers and some seriously funky kick-ass pop down to Mrs Campbell's room like a grown-up kid who got to change classes instead of sitting in the same boring room all day long.
My mom found mine just last weekend in a bunch of stuff at her house - well, she found two, actually, because my sister and I had the exact same everything - and brought it down. We laughed ourselves sick over the childhood drawings and school papers tucked inside. At one point I looked down at the folder in my lap and it was like I was six, seven, eight years old again. Michael Jackson truly was my first Fake Celebrity Boyfriend, even before I understood what that meant exactly, and the only ringtone I've ever purchased in my life was "Thriller" (still my default ring btw). He turned out to be an incredibly fucked up individual, a man to pity or revile or both, but the impact of his music and his performances was and is undeniable.
Last year for my birthday we went to Cleveland and visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Amid the geeking out I was doing over Bruce's guitar, Keef's stupid top hat, Run's Adidas, and Elvis' jumpsuit, there was this moment when I looked into a display case and just kind of had this moment of total shock. It was one of the gloves - that glove - and a besequined white poofy sock that looked like the ones we wore two pairs at a time, all slouched down and ridiculous-looking. It was kind of embarrassing to see, I mean, that's what we swooned over? Seriously? In a case, under a spotlight, it looks like the sad old sock once worn by a ridiculously talented but weird man that it is. But at the same time, it was so thrilling to have it right there in front of me.
It's been a long time since Michael Jackson was someone I admired, but the news yesterday still felt like a punch to the gut. I guess you never really do get over your first crush, do you?
You know the folder I'm talking about: MJ standing against a wall, looking ridiculously adorable in a horrible yellow sweater, a fake record sticking out of the top of the thing like you were carrying your spelling papers and some seriously funky kick-ass pop down to Mrs Campbell's room like a grown-up kid who got to change classes instead of sitting in the same boring room all day long.
My mom found mine just last weekend in a bunch of stuff at her house - well, she found two, actually, because my sister and I had the exact same everything - and brought it down. We laughed ourselves sick over the childhood drawings and school papers tucked inside. At one point I looked down at the folder in my lap and it was like I was six, seven, eight years old again. Michael Jackson truly was my first Fake Celebrity Boyfriend, even before I understood what that meant exactly, and the only ringtone I've ever purchased in my life was "Thriller" (still my default ring btw). He turned out to be an incredibly fucked up individual, a man to pity or revile or both, but the impact of his music and his performances was and is undeniable.
Last year for my birthday we went to Cleveland and visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Amid the geeking out I was doing over Bruce's guitar, Keef's stupid top hat, Run's Adidas, and Elvis' jumpsuit, there was this moment when I looked into a display case and just kind of had this moment of total shock. It was one of the gloves - that glove - and a besequined white poofy sock that looked like the ones we wore two pairs at a time, all slouched down and ridiculous-looking. It was kind of embarrassing to see, I mean, that's what we swooned over? Seriously? In a case, under a spotlight, it looks like the sad old sock once worn by a ridiculously talented but weird man that it is. But at the same time, it was so thrilling to have it right there in front of me.
It's been a long time since Michael Jackson was someone I admired, but the news yesterday still felt like a punch to the gut. I guess you never really do get over your first crush, do you?
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