our love is god. let's go get a slushie.

louis du pointe du lac if he was born in the 90s: it was the two thousands... a new age, not only on the calendar, but across the ramshackle collage of fields and mountains and strip malls we somehow had the gumption to call a country. the era of the glossy Seventeen magazine, pilfered from a friend's older sister, the secrets of a womanhood we could only imagine grasping spilling out from its pages in a private, sordid puddle that we wished desperately to drown in. the siren call of claire's, a klaxon of childish hedonism, luring us with its gauche, sparkling fuschias and and royal purples and ever-present ocean deep ceruleans... an era of bedazzlement, not only on our clothes but on our TV screens, our magazines, the pulsating paisleys of the deLiA's catalogue promising us a future where a beaded curtain could bring a touch of Bohemian mystery to our banal, suburban homes...