I saw Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen as the pinnacle of fashion sensibility of the times, and hungrily mined their costumes for inspo. And cool meant wearing the “garbage” du jour, clothing and accessories I could wear three, maybe four times, before I discarded them in favor of the next thing. She and my father, despite being strictly middle class and with no extensive wealth to speak of, insisted on long-lasting, high quality pieces-wool scarves and sweaters, leather shoes, sturdy canvas bags.īut I just wanted to be cool. Mom, meanwhile, loathed these, as she described them, “garbage” stores. I wanted to wear jewelry from Claire’s, buy headbands and butterfly clips from Icing, and cap the afternoon off with a nice pretzel from Auntie Anne’s. I’d take BART, traveling from my home in Oakland, California, to the shopping hub of Market Street in San Francisco, or beg my mother to drive me to the suburbs, where there were real malls.
In the early Aughts, I was a teen, hungry for trends.
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