Good morning, little Friday. It's raining on the prairie here in Brooklyn and I'm happy to be WFH today. Thank goodness there's a few things happening to keep me busy. I'm grateful.
So I was walking home from barre this morning and thinking about motherhood. Yea, I was. Really.
I live in a neighborhood that is full of young families, I mean- bursting at the seams with them. Should you require a new method of birth control, you should move to Cobble Hill. And I'll leave that there.
I've been asked from time to time why I never wanted children or if I ever wanted them. I don't mind the question at all because the answer is simple- I never wanted them. In fact, it's rarely occurred to me. I just feel very much myself without children and I'm super fine with that. I was never a camp counselor, I never played with baby dolls, and was not much for babysitting. I rarely thought about motherhood as a child, because I was too busy thinking about prancing around Morocco or New York City or Paris. I swear that's the truth. Not much for white picket fences, really.
But what made me think of motherhood was a flashback on a toy I used to play with all the damn day when I was a young lady. I think I've talked about my Barbie obsession, but Tiffany was my basic bitch back in the day. Who is Tiffany you may ask? You may want to watch her amazing commercial here. Oh the 70s. I love the 70s. I want to swim in a 70s pool all day. I'm aware that pool may be full of some weird stuff with all that fairy dust, but I'm ok with that. But back to Tiffany.
Tiffany is fabulous. And a stone cold fox. As the commercial says, she's who you want her to be. Her hair was either dark or blonde, depending on what mood she was in. She wore a jumpsuit or sparkly dress (dressed in a gown for a party in town) because she was always ready to party. And the best part about Tiffany Taylor? She lived in a bloody penthouse in the city, complete with a sexy stereo system and the ability to change the view from day to night. Sure it was Tuesday Taylor's penthouse but in my world Tiff was all up in there. Naturally she was a New York lady in my imagination, as I endlessly pored through my mother's magazines to get a glimpse into that seductive world. I loved my penthouse more than life itself- endless hours pimping out Tiffany, switching up her hair, placing her on her balcony catching some imaginary rays, striking soigné moves on her spiral staircase, having dinner parties with her other pals, my Charlie's Angels dolls.
They were amazingly stylish in neck scarves, wrap topped jumpsuits, and high boots. I would wear that right now, ps.
This was the life I created for my girl Tiffany, so it's no surprise this is how my life sort of ended up, or at least my aspirations remain the same. Truth- I don't live in a penthouse or have the ability to switch hair color in a blink (though I would). But my point is as many girls my age were feeding their dolls bottles, I was hanging with Tiffany in her penthouse, though occasionally she'd drive off in her Barbie Corvette. It's not lost on me that Tiff's imaginary life is altogether more fabulous than mine- but we have one thing in common- we're both city girls who love a good soiree and we definitely don't have children. In my childhood fantasies, Tiffany had a boyfriend (there was a dude in a brown turtleneck I believe that was meant to hang with her), and in reality, I did end up with a pretty lovely husband. I think we should get a Corvette though, since the penthouse is looking less likely. Incidentally, my last pad in Brooklyn had a very groovy spiral staircase. So there's that.
I know it's hardly a throwback kind of day, but had to put that out there. Even as a wee one, I guess I knew what I wanted. Funny how that's often the case. Cause that's what's up in Tiffany's penthouse in the best city on Earth. Yours, in inner children and 70s glam. Party at the penthouse. XO