All the World's a Stage
I know what you’re thinking: Tamia, didn’t you already take ridiculously self-indulgent photos in this outfit?
Ah, but no, grasshopper. This is yet another jumpsuit I picked up during a thrift shopping adventure. One that sat lonely and unused in the trunk of my car until I rescued it in a half-hearted attempt at reorganization.
Jumpsuit, vintage; belt and sunglasses, Gucci; sandals, Ash; bracelets and earrings from a craft fair.
The similarity of the pieces is a total coincidence given that they were purchased on separate occasions, but I’ve decided I kind of like having both as an option!
On a sadder note, yesterday was a really crap day: losing both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson on the same day was really just too much. Both idols in their own right, Michael was obviously an inspiration to me (and many others) in so many ways. I had MJ posters on my walls, jewelry plastered with his likeness (Jheri Curl and all), and a sparkly glove or two for good measure.
His music has been the soundtrack to my life! I remember seeing the Moonwalk for the first time on the Motown 25 special–it was like magic!–and everyone trying to do it the next day.
I remember being haunted by my fuzzily child-like comprehension of the Billie Jean video–not really knowing what it meant, but not completely misunderstanding it either.
I remember being straight up terrified at the Thriller video (even though I wanted to be Ola Raye)–MJ turning into a zombie? Not my Michael! I would jump off my parent’s bed and run from the room as soon as the werewolf howled at the beginning of the song!
I remember watching Moonwalker (especially the Smooth Criminal video) at slumber parties and playing around with my uncles and cousins at family gatherings trying to do that “extreme lean.”
There’s so much more–I mean the man’s musical catalog spans decades and his videos used to premiere on network TV at prime time!–but a part of me can’t help but feel like a little piece of my childhood is gone forever. RIP Michael.