Much to the chagrin of my eldest child, Monday night I went with my mother-in-law, sister-in-law and another friend to see Cyndi Lauper and Cher at Phillips Arena. Amazing show.
In my most basic moments of vanity and self-aggrandizing, this may be my Number One reason for wanting to be a famous novelist. Why? Because you know if they wanted to, Mary Kay Andrews or Emily Giffin could make a quick call and get backstage passes to hang out with these fabulous pop divas. Which I would loooooove to do.
I promise, I wouldn’t pester them with questions, or even try to get Cyndi to sign my original cassette of True Colors (the first tape I ever owned, back when there were tapes). Partly this is because I’d be dumbstruck: I never know what to say in moments of pressure. And because, to my immense sadness, that old cassette went the way of my virginity years ago. But mostly I think I’d just want to blend into the room — or whatever it is backstage at an arena — sipping on a drink, lusting after Cher’s backup dancers and soaking up the awesome.
At 60 and 68 respectively, Cyndi Lauper and Cher are cooler than I can even fathom being. With better bodies. And far, far better fashion taste. Cyndi’s adorable jacket, enormous red wig and glittery combat boots combination is totally the kind of thing I expect to wear in Heaven, if there is one. And anyone else who may have been at this particular show can correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I counted eleven costume changes for Cher in a two-hour period. Eleven.
When I got home and shared this with Hubs, he wondered aloud what other job you could have — besides pop music icon — that would allow you to change clothes literally every ten minutes and wear whatever the hell you wanted every time. Oh, excuse me, the marketing meeting is coming up in ten minutes, I need to go find my shiny red go-go boots. Or, look kids, Mommy’s wearing her shimmery punk gypsy outfit – you know that means it’s time to go to the park! And what Monday morning staff meeting wouldn’t be spiced up if someone wore a glittery half-naked Cleopatra getup?
I guess that’s one of the many things that so appealing about celebrities — in their business, the more over-the-top they are, the better. “Professional dress” is a whole different ballgame when your profession involves singing to stadium-sized crowds. And while we sit at home in yoga pants, in the cubicle wearing a classic neutral suit, or maybe out shopping in something as daring as a bold floral skirt – it’s nice to fantasize for a minute that we could find an occasion to be truly glamorous, truly original.
The reality, of course, is that I couldn’t fit my left leg into Cher’s Turn Back Time outfit, much less find an appropriate occasion for it. Novelists aren’t exactly known for showing lots of skin; it’s a drawback of an occupation that requires spending countless hours on your ass in front of a computer screen. If you see me sporting glittery combat boots at a book signing someday, however, you’ll know I’ve Lauperized myself just a bit. And that’s a good thing.
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I’m M.J. (Manda) Pullen, an author and mom in the Atlanta, Georgia area. I blog about writing, publishing, motherhood, health, psychology and whatever else strikes me in the moment. I may or may not be plotting to steal Cyndi Lauper’s awesome red wig.
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My current roster of books includes The Marriage Pact series, a trilogy of Contemporary Romance/Women’s Fiction novels. You can find them for all eBook formats and in paperback here.
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MJ Pullen
