“I’ll buy you a new outfit if you stop biting your nails,” my dad told me on quite a regular basis.  Like most chicks, I love new clothes.  We were not the richest family, so a new outfit was something to look forward to.  Who was he kidding?    I was not about to stop my nail biting.  But sometimes I got the new outfit anyway.  And, mind you, I never had to do anything for it but be adored by — and adore back — my father.  Secret?  I didn’t only bite my nails, I bit my toenails, but hey, I might post another piece with that story.

I was never the biggest fashion princess of Beverly Hills because we weren’t the wealthy ones who could afford Saks, Bonwit Teller, or other fancy stores.  My mother made me some amazing clothes, sewed by hand, and I wore them to death, long past their fashion shelf life date.  I’m talking mostly about my life before high school, because by the time I was fifteen, I was designing my own clothes and using my babysitting money to shop at vintage stores.  This was up until the 8th grade.  And in my school, there were already some real fashion plates.  But I just wasn’t noticing and didn’t care.  Then suddenly there was a shift.  Mod was in, and I wanted everything pale pink and white – everything Yardley, Courreges, and Twiggy.  I started with the haircut.  And boy, did I think I was the real “Twiggy” deal when I had that cut.  My mother gave it to me, as she had gone to beauty school, and was now a makeup artist and hairstylist. (more…)