Shiloh Jolie Pitt is stealing my look.
It’s true. Normally, we average people latch on to celebrity styles. But this “celeb tot,” as the magazines call them, is clearly following mine.
Shiloh is Brad and Angelina’s daughter, but, like I did at that age, she looks more like a son.
Poor kid gets so much shit from the press. I’m glad I wasn’t a tabloid figure, because I had the same gender-bending summer look: a Lord Fauntleroy bowl cut and boys’ swim trunks. No top. According to Angelina, that’s “Montenegro style.” I’m not sure what that means, but when I was coming up, it was called “girl dressed like boy.”
It’s different from “tomboy,” which to me means a girl who climbs trees and doesn’t like skirts, but who has long, pretty pigtails to indicate she’s a female and potentially a future fashion model. There was no tom- to my boy style.
The height of my boy-ness was around age six, judging from these photos. (Captions provided by my sister.)
I’m sure my mom had something to do with this life choice.
She wouldn’t let me play with Barbies, because they reenforced gender stereotypes and encouraged a prissy, girly-girl sensibility. Mission accomplished, Mom.
I played with trucks, collected rocks, and skateboarded – until one day I got a fat lip going down the big hill in the park, and then had the board stolen from under my arm by some teenage thug.
At that age when boys only hang out with boys and girls with girls, I opted for boys. I remember my friend Roddy planning his seventh birthday party. He announced, “No girls allowed. Only boys. And Laura.”
My shameless copycat sister, who Single White Female’d me in every other regard – from ordering the same ice cream flavor to changing her name to Laura – drew the line at going butch. She was like: “No thanks, I’ll do my own thing on this one.” She wore lots of pink and purple, took ballet, and played with Barbies. Mom must have decided stereotypes were OK for her.
Turns out I was just boy-curious.
Guess it was only a phase, because I switched back to girl. I don’t know exactly when, but I remember a turning point. At a community pool, some boy I was playing with had a long, plastic pirate sword (see Shiloh, above). Because he owned the sword, he got to be the pirate and I was the captive. He swung his weapon in a vertical arc right past my bare chest and growled, “Yargh. I’m gonna cut yer titties off.”
My titties? I didn’t have any, but I think I decided I didn’t want my non-titties showing anymore. I switched to one-piece bathing suits (the girl kind) and thus began my transition. Within a few years, I was showing up for Passover seder in a frilly Gunne Sax dress.
Watch: Shiloh will probably inspire a global trend. Little girls everywhere will be sporting Montenegro Style. In case that happens, just remember: I did it before it was cool.