Tinkerbell obsession

I confess; like the presumed multitudes of women and children who shop at Wal-mart, I am a big Tinkerbell fan. (I mean, there must be tons of fans, as every single graphic t-shirt there has her on it.) It’s not so much because she’s cute, sexy, or bitchy, as much as it is because of what she represents: childhood.

My name’s Michelle, and I’m addicted to Nostalgia. Quite horrifically. I have spent entire days daydreaming about when I was six years old, during the summer, living in my prime time of carelessness and untouchable happiness. I’ve been trying to cut back, but then I fell into the addiction of endlessly planning for the future. I can’t win.

Tinkerbell is the icon of Disney’s Peter Pan, and for you freaks of nature who haven’t seen that movie yet, it’s all about wanting to be young forever. And I do; I really, really do. The movie itself isn’t even that good. (Don’t get me started on the political incorrectness of the song “What Makes The Red Man Red?”) But I love the concept, and Tinkerbell has become the ultimate representation of that concept. Thus, I love her.

There was a time many, many moons ago (as in the year before last) when I had over $70,000 in my savings account. Not from a trust or inheritance, but of my own hard work running my own business. (It is now all gone to frivolous spending but, mostly, NYU tuition payments.) I really didn’t spend THAT much; I didn’t buy a new car or pet chimpanzee or set of kitchen appliances.

But there was one thing I remember debating myself pretty heavily about before I bought it. It was this Tinkerbell painting at the Disney store near Grand Central.

I had gone to the store on several different occasions, each time walking almost directly up to the third floor, just to look at this painting. I had hopelessly fallen in love with it. I finally went to the store with my mother, and she told me to indulge myself. I called my sister and asked her, if she’d had as much money as I did at the time, if she would’ve bought it, and she said Yes. So I did. If I remember correctly, it was about $450, making it the most expensive (by FAR) non-functional item I have ever purchased. Before you ask (now that I’m broke), No, I don’t regret it, and Yes, I still love it very much. I will never sell it, even though I’m sure it could someday be worth quite a bit of money as it’s part of a small limited edition from the artist.

Paris Hilton has the same painting, by the way. Just a fun fact.

Someday, I will also get a Tinkerbell tattoo somewhere on my body. She will be looking adorably mischievous, and she will be holding a banner that says “Young at Heart,” after my favorite Frank Sinatra song.

More than anything, these things are daily reminders to enjoy my life, no matter what age I reach. My dad, the messed-up asshole that he can be, is still my idol in this respect; he’s almost 50 years old and he still enjoys rock music, sneaking into concerts and plays at intermission, and collecting monster movie figurines, comics, books, etc. I can only hope to be so light-hearted at that age.

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