| Wednesday, September 04, 2002 |
 | And speaking of nostalgia, and throwing our minds back to the scary scary list of animated sexpots, which is becoming more rather than less scary as I find myself remembering having the warm fuzzies for more and more cartoon characters in my childhood, let's tee up another shaming confession. This time, as we take a walk back to my deeply fucked-up childhood, let us stop and gaze upon the vision of loveliness that was Princess.
Ah, Princess. Don't be fooled by the sober threads; essentially, Jun was all about the flares. As a wee young thing growing up in East Bergholt (where the only fashion snobbery generally available was limited to wellington boots), those candy-striped trousers, tight at the thigh and flared at the knee, combined with the minimalist thrill of a numbered longsleeve T struck me as impossibly cool. Combine that with the insanely long neck, the huge eyes, the hair that pooled and spread at the neck like Morticia Addam's hemlines and, of course, the ninja skills, and she was a prime target for preadolescent affections. Although the ridiculous pink minidress and absurd visor would have put paid at least to my Gatchaman fantasies. Maybe if Jason were free...
Some people, of course, like the bird outfit. Some people are the devil.
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