Last week, on Holy Thursday, a part of my soul was resurrected in Walmart.
We were picking up some last minute touches for the kids’ Easter baskets when I realized we were out of coffee creamer.
“Babe, I’m just going to grab something real quick, I’ll be right back,” I said to Aaron as he loaded our cart with Cadbury mini eggs.
I approached a wall of about 2,381 brands and flavors of chemical caffeine-enchancers when one—and only one—actually screamed my name.
Between the pink glitter packaging, the visions of raspberry pastries, the flavor (raspberry champagne!?), and Paris Hilton’s perfectly coiffed blonde hair cascading down the side of the bottle, I was mesmerized.
It’s not every day you whip out your phone and snap a photo of a container of International Delight but I was literally stopped in my tracks by this Y2K fantasy fever dream.
We brought the creamer—and the cart filled with hundreds of dollars of Easter paraphernalia—home and I thought about it all night long. I couldn’t wait to wake up and fill my cup in glitter-drenched delusion that I knew deep in my core would become my whole identity.
But not a new identity…a familiar one.
The one that carried me from girlhood to womanhood in a cloud of Bath & Body Works Cucumber Melon and Warm Vanilla Sugar mists. The one that taught me how to start caring for myself through weekly spray tan appointments, stacks of dog-eared Cosmo issues, and apricot scrub facials in my childhood bathroom mirror.
The one that built the woman I am today, two decades later.
Over the next five days I found myself barreling quickly down a digital rabbit hole filled with Juicy Couture velour tracksuit searches, actual trips to the actual mall (god I love Florida) to pick up Victoria’s Secret PINK matching sweats sets, and an entire Pinterest board called GLITTER PINK BOMBSHELL SUMMER filled to the brim with images of pink nail art, Louis Vuitton multi-color monogram, and also seriously kicking myself for not saving all of this shit I had in my early 20s.
Behold! The inside of my brain at the moment:
Do you know that I used to BLING my own cell phone back in the day? Not a case. Not something I casually ordered on Amazon. I used to take the B16 bus in Brooklyn to the CRAFT STORE to buy my supplies and come home and meticulously place each crystal onto my actual phone with tweezers and glue until the entire thing was covered in slightly misaligned rhinestones.
As I was lining the top shelves of my closet this morning with my Victoria’s Secret terry totes that came free with my manic purchases all weekend, I realized that bottle of dairy-adjacent elixir lit a match within me. It reminded me of a time when being my hottest, most glam self was the daily assignment.
And it was fun.
Not performative, not mindful, not documented, not something some TikTok spiritual guru told me I needed to do for healing purposes.
Just…fun.
When self-care wasn’t constant self-assessment but instead French tips on a Tuesday, a Mystic tan on a Thursday, and a collection of lace push-up bras that could fill a small boutique.
When I was more concerned with smelling like cotton candy and the way my ass looked in my pink velour Juicy track pants than wondering whether I might possibly have ADHD. When the only thing I was overanalyzing was my outfit for Applebee’s. When “doing the work” meant casually stalking my new crush at his supermarket job—not unpacking my entire childhood.
When my creativity flourished through decorating my bedroom the way I wanted to (not the way Pinterest told me to). When my inner artist experimented with everything I could afford at the MAC counter that weekend. When every day was a new adventure out in the real world and not behind a screen (unless we were checking to see if he was on Instant Messenger).
So as I sit here writing this to you on this spring Tuesday morning, I’m officially declaring this a GLITTER PINK BOMBSHELL SUMMER.
A summer where we can all stand to lighten up a bit. Our moods, our routines, and yes, maybe even our hair.
A summer where we commit to being our most glamorous selves because it’s FUN to feel hot in whatever way feels good to you.
A summer where we give ourselves permission to be a little delusional again. To romanticize our lives. To get ready for no reason. To care about things that don’t matter—and in doing so, remember what actually does.
To log off. To lay out on the beach doused in Banana Boat tanning oil. To wear the flavored lip gloss. To get the party nail. To walk proudly in our kitten heel sandals…even if we’re just going to Walmart.
To stop trying to fix ourselves and start adorning ourselves again.
Speaking of, I made us a playlist that makes you think of absolutely nothing serious.
So press play, crack open a Diet Cherry Coke, and go be the girl you forgot you were.
She’s been waiting for you.
<3
Cara
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.