I’m not well-schooled in the way of the reunion. Yes, Romy and Michelle did their best to learn me, but I shouldn’t really take instruction from Hollywood on how to behave tonight (other than to refrain from bragging that I invented Post-its).
I didn’t hit up the ten – I’d sequestered myself in Singapore – but now the calendar boasts 20, and, thanks to the reconnecting powers of the Facebooks, I’ve flown from even further afield to see what’s what (and to laugh at photos of 80s perms, stone-washed overalls and the pimply, dread–headed boys I used crush on).
I’m expecting catharsis, a few fraught moments (particularly when I forget peoples‘ names) and a shedload of giggles. But what to wear? A 1989 Dolly Magazine spread says high waists, bodycon dresses and lots of sequins. I’m inclined to disagree.
Nobody needs to see my bare midriff – then or now – so, I think I’ll stick to my regular uniform. Denim. Tee. Blazer. Boots. Can’t go wrong.
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Images via Glossy Sheen.