Punk Rock Princess

I’ve always been pretty transparent about the fact that I’m a total poser. While other people use style to make a statement or express who they are,  I use it to act like a giant dress-up doll. I love dressing up to the occasion, whether it is heels and dark jeans for a night in the city or pearl-snap shirts and camo hats for shooting guns and drinking crappy beers in the bed of a truck. At a recent dress-up party though, I failed miserably.

I went through a phase in my early college years that I started to mold into a total hipster. I’m talking skinny jeans, TOMS shoes, floppy knit hats, flannel shirts, the whole kit and caboodle. I dyed my hair black with a touch of purple, I went to DIY shows all the time (I knew what DIY shows were, which was bad in and of itself), I listened to tons of Indie bands and went to music festivals. I’m not going to lie, I had a blast doing it! It was a fun, healthy phase.

It was during this phase when I discovered my favorite band, Deas Vail. So all of my fondest memories of watching Laura Blaylock play keys (#girlcrush #notevensorry) along with the rest of her adorably talented band performing my favorite songs took place at music festivals or crappy bar stages. Every time I hear White Lights or Shoreline, it takes me back to a time of moccasins and plaid shirts (that I obviously bought at Forever 21 instead of Urban Outfitters — I’m a poser, remember?).

I hadn’t seen Deas Vail in while, but when I learned that there was going to be a Deas Vail Oh Christmas Tour, there was no doubt that I was going to be there. It had been several years since I’d been to a Deas Vail concert, but I thought showing up in jeans, my sparkly TOMS and a solid red top (it was Oh Christmas Tour!) would suffice. 

I could not have been more wrong. I felt like I stood out like a giant sore thumb! I know this was probably exaggerated by the fact that I have these annoyingly high standards for fitting in, but still. 

The first thing that I noticed was that everyone looked like they weren’t a day older than 15. They didn’t just look it, most of them I’m pretty sure actually did not have driver’s licenses. Most of them didn’t have wristbands and stood in the crowd with these little baby faces making me feel like a grandma. I’d say with 98% certainty that I was the only person in that room with a full-time job requiring business casual instead of a guitar. Crap. Did I look that young? I was convinced that when I went to shows at bars when I was underage, I totally looked at least 22. 

The next thing was the shoes. I thought TOMS were cool and Indy and hip! It turns out that might not be the case, at least not the sparkly ones. Fail! Everyone there had kicks that looked like they came straight out of a 1920’s issue of Vanity Fair! The people who did have TOMS had the Cardones or the boots or any kind that was not brown and sparkly. Whoops!  

The last thing was a rookie mistake. Here I was, at this hole-in-the-wall bar on the Northside wallpapered with band posters with all these band-aids and I’m standing there with my hot pink Coach purse. What is this, amateur hour!? Not only was I probably the only one there with anything pink, but I was certainly the only one with a purse made out of anything other than organic wool and costing over $15. 

I was this old lady with stupid shoes and a disproportionally great bag. I clearly didn’t belong. But I knew every lyric to every song, darn it! Who’s the poser now!?

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