Please don’t think I’m dissing The Sheedy.
Far from it: she was my first girl crush. At least, I THINK she was. Even though I was majorly disappointed she let that wet lettuce of a jock Emilio Estevez try and make her into a prom princess and wipe away all her goth hotness.
But I also fell in love with Winona Ryder around the same time. And Siouxsie Soux. Oh, and Claire Grogan from Altered Images when she was in ‘Gregory’s Girl’. And Kate Jackson from ‘Charlie’s Angels’. She was the tomboy, balls-out wisecracker with a swingy black bob. And looked bad-ass in her denim flares. I’m not sure which of these came first. And actually, it really doesn’t matter. Because they were all the bees knees in my young, susceptible teenage eyes.
Sensing a theme here? Slight outsider tendencies. Pale. Dark hair. A fondness for smudged eyeliner. Dodgy taste and usually crap luck with boys (yes, even Ms Jackson).
Identification was the key to my girl lusts: did I want to be them? Did I want to dress like them? Did I believe they felt pain and rejection like 14 year old self? Of course I did. Even if they were possibly rich as Croesus or at least getting fingered by Andrew McCarthy in their downtime.
Teenage female crushes are often part lust and part pinning your lack of self confidence onto an unobtainable person, with the objective being that their supreme excellence will somehow rub off onto your gawky, clumsy self. I often had trouble untangling my feelings as being either in the ‘I want them as my best friend’ camp or ‘they make my lady bits go tingly’ section. It does NOT matter.
Look at the boys you fancy at that impressionable age: was there a tattoo, a beard, hulking great boat-lifting shoulders and a torso you could lick Nutella off of? Probably not. More likely they had doe eyes, a soft fringe, a liking for ice cream and soft, downy hair on their forearms. I majorly crushed on Adam Ant. He of the pigeon chest, frilly blouses and half of Boots makeup counter on his beautiful, high cheekboned face. Michael J.Fox and his tiny stature, girlish voice and freckles. Johnny Depp ( no other words needed) .The aforementioned Mr McCarthy had huge blue peepers, read poetry and tellingly, schtupped The Sheedy whilst she was wearing her pearl necklace. That’s not a euphemism. It Actually Happened.
They’re kind of interchangeable. Sexually non-threatening. It completely explains Justin Bieber’s popularity. He looks like some kind of doll made by scientists that want to show both male and female characteristics to kids in a safe and non-offensive manner.
It’s like our hormones are telling us girls: “You’re probably not entirely sure of your sexuality yet, so we’ll fuck you up a little bit more by making you like both sexes.” Or could that just be me?
But I don’t think so. If you’d put me in a room with a partially clothed Winona, kohl wildly applied to her lashes and a pair of artfully unlaced DM’s on her pretty feet, I would have had the same body and mind response to her as if it were Johnny. Although to be fair, that’s probably a crap example. Both are so fucking gorgeous, I challenge anyone to turn that golden pairing down. Seriously, I think I actually cried when they spit up.
You get a little bit older and your sexual self begins to sort itself out a bit. Sometimes, if your lucky, it’ll work itself out before your twenties. I THOUGHT mine was. I properly fancied boys. But then it got all confused again until I gave up trying to pigeonhole myself and just fancied who I fancied. Weirdly, there are still folk out there who actually care which gender you are rubbing genitals with. I mean, as long as you’re both adult and consenting, who’s business is it? It really fucks me off that this is still even ‘A Thing’ in this day and age. Religion has a LOT of shit to answer for.
So, in summary: Ally Sheedy. Would.
BobCatGirl 