Fuck You, Brooke Shields or Belize 2023

A story in response to “Fuck You Fund”

In 1980, 13-year old Brooke Shields was featured in a Calvin Klein jeans commercial — just the jean-clad model, one leg stretched straight while a camera slowly pans from her boot to her crotch. She looks at the camera and, in her under-the-age-of-consent voice, utters, “You know what comes between me and my Calvins? [pause] Nothing.”

I was a sophomore in high school at the time, and I blame Brooke (and her mother, Calvin Klein, and all associated advertising agencies) for snatching my self-esteem and sending me (and I suspect millions of others like me) on a chase for objects whose promise was to make me cool and beautiful.

It started with jeans and endless fights with my mother about how she needed to find me a way to get a pair of Gloria Vanderbilts. She had 5 kids. We compromised. I got a job, and an overpriced pair of jeans blazoned with the name of someone who was already a gagillionnaire.

I’d like to say that spending my high school years working at a local library effectively tattooing why on earth would anyone want to date me on my forehead taught me some higher fiscal lessons. Unfortunately a lot of those hours were spent hiding in the biography section pouring through Vogue’s beautiful and seductive ads, thus cementing my addiction.

Fast-forward three decades that included lean college years, jobs, promotions, and three children. During that time, the desire to look a part — whether punk college kid, young stupid professional trying to not look young and stupid, hip mother, and older professional trying to stay relevant, was constant.

This past December, my husband and I took our first trip alone together in 25 years. At the end of five days hiking, hanging with nature filmmakers, snorkeling, eating at dive restaurants and sweating in the glorious heat of Belize, we said nothing about our desire to not return home. It was palpable between us.

Insert several uncomfortable moments in the wee hours of the night regretting that instead of stocking my “I want to be in Belize as soon as I need to be fund,” I spent an extra penny on something with someone else’s name on it when something less expensive would have been just fine.

The next seven years will be spent saving and scrimping to make that move.

Too bad we didn’t take that trip earlier.