Anyone who knows me knows that I am the biggest Madonna fan ever. And, a few select people know that one of my most firmly held beliefs is that if Madonna and I ever met, we would immediately become fabulous friends. And even fewer people know (I only just told my husband a couple of years ago) that the reason my seven year old is named Lola is because I had a vision of taking my young child to the same playground where Madonna takes Lourdes, and, while pretending not to notice that they were there, I would start calling out to my daughter, and Madonna would think that I was calling her daughter and would get all "What the hell are you doing?" up in my face, and I’d explain, and we’d have a laugh and immediately become fabulous friends. I have been known to say, and to mean, that my dream job is organizing and answering Madonna’s fan mail. Because it is. And I would be amazing at that job, let me tell you.
And I was not a screaming teenager wearing lace bows in my hair and rubber bracelets. I was more in the Desperately Seeking Susan style camp - combining the lace, rubber, and leather with a punky sensibility that made it cool and not slutty. And the truth is that I dream of reinventing myself. Changing my look to suit my aesthetic and what I need to express at that moment. So I have always thought that Madonna is my fashion role model. And at one time, she definitely was. I mean, I went to Danceteria and got my hair cut at Astor Place and shopped on Canal Street back in the day. And, if I do say so myself, I think I made it work for me. I have just never been able to grown-uppify that look enough. Also, in my brain, when I am pulling it off, I am skinny. Outside my brain? Not so much.
And I have to confess that Madonna and I, where once were built similarly (by which I mean that I too was once young and fit and had a nice ass, not that our bodies looked anything alike), are not aging the same way at all. Both of us are now in our forties, but she is extremely lean and tight everywhere. I am not. I could not pull off what she wears, and her style now is so tuned to her body type, that it doesn’t even appeal to me in an emulating kind of way (although, at almost 50, what DOESN’T appeal about Madonna in a totally admiring kind of way).
Now, Lourdes is what, 10? 11? (I know, I should know all this, but I love her mom, I’m not some sick psycho stalker know-the-kids’-birthdays freak). And every picture I see of her? I am all "I want that jacket." or "I could totally pull that off. And then I’m all, "Uh, Jen? How about moving yourself back to the planet the rest of us live on and realizing that no, you can’t pull off the look of a gorgeous preteen celebrity’s kid with her own stylist and unlimited credit at every great store in the world." Did I mention that she is ten? Yes, I am so lost that I am seeking fashion inspiration from a ten year old. A gorgeous and fabulously dressed ten year old, but still. I really need to figure out how to dress myself. This is getting embarrassing.
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