Guest Post by Sarah Kuhn
I love Claudia Kishi. Ever since she first emerged on the pages of The Baby-Sitters Club books -- that touchstone series about enterprising tweens who start their own small business and become embroiled in the world of Kid Kits, cruises, and mysteries that involve things like ghost cats -- I've been obsessed with her every move. I related to her creativity, her inability to master math, and her whole Japanese American girl living in the white suburbs thing. I coveted her in-room phone line, her hollowed out books full of candy, and of course... her clothes.
Oh, her
clothes. So many bright colors. So many "clashing" patterns. So many bedazzled ankle boots. The endless pages that lovingly describe her outfits (often characterized as "wild") are the most worn and dog-eared in my BSC collection. I wanted every single piece of her wardrobe so very badly.
But I also found myself caught in a classic tweenager-y paradox. I thought I wanted to stand out like Claudia, but I also knew in my heart of hearts that it would probably be better for my whole middle school experience if I did
not stand out at all. At least, not any more than I already did, thanks to that "Japanese American girl living in the white suburbs" thing.
I sometimes found myself trying to incorporate a Claudia-esque piece into my look -- oversized men's shirts, scrunchy socks in a Technicolor rainbow of colors, barrettes shaped like animals. But I always ended up feeling self-conscious, the bravado I'd felt when clipping that sparkly giraffe into my hair melting as soon as one of the popular white girls sent me one of those disdainful looks that just seemed to say:
really?