indefinite articles

Dear Gwen Stefani,

Seriously, if you hadn’t sported the bindi in 1995, I don’t know what sort of tired trend us pre-teen suburbanites would’ve latched on to. You liberated us from the greasy, grungy, helplessly style-challeneged, rock-chick prototype: the Alanis Morissettes, the Fiona Apples, the Courtney Loves. You kept “cute” interesting in sweet vintage numbers when Jewel, Sarah McLachlan and Tori Amos were sporting gauzy, fairy-inspired, piano-ballad-in-the-desert style get ups. You even managed to glamorize the fierce pencil-thin eyebrows and black lip-liner of The Chola while bearing your broken heart in the “Don’t Speak” video. Screaming, peroxided, and always perfectly manicured, you were a role model with style.

Since jump-kicking your way into our hearts with No Doubt, you’ve donned braces, a neon-pink Farrah Fawcett-do, and brought Rocksteady-club-pop beats to the masses. The Gwen-pire seems to have reached its apex since you’ve gone solo, however. Now, my dear, I fear that your recent antics (ahem, the entourage of Harajuku girls) may have pushed your image from playfully avant-garde to obnoxiously self-absorbed.

What exactly are you trying to say these days, Gwen?

Don’t burn out, Gwen. Stay with us. Stay as fabulous and fun to watch as you’ve always been, but find a new way to be New. How, you ask? How is one to shift from the explosive combustion of pop icon to the slow-burn smolder of the legend? It’s simple. Produce, direct, and star in your own kids’ show. You’ve got kids now - it’s time to start educating the next generation on your supreme coolness. Besides, it’s all familiar stuff, you just need to do some re-formulating: outrageous, brightly hued get-ups; the incorporation of playground taunts (Hey girl, see the liar, can’t you see his pants on fire?) and cheer-spelling (this shit is bananas: B-A-N-A-N-A-S!) in your song lyrics; and a troupe of small people following you everywhere you go. It would be your own brilliant, absurd, fantastic world in educational 30-minute blocks Monday through Friday mornings, 10 a.m.

Stay out of those trashy tabloids and make your way over to Nickelodeon before Paris and Lindsay figure out that this publicity stunt is golden. Self-promotion in the form of public service is generally well-received, especially when you bring the kids along. Just make sure to put Kingston on stage with you as you point out to the crowd calling, “Hey Baby, I’m Gwen and this is my Not-So-Tragic-Kingdom. Come on in, we’re gonna have a Hella Good time.”

Sincerely,
Melissa Sebastian