come as you are?

Today I spent my lunch hour in line for a ticket to see LAST DAYS at MoMA tonight.

While there, I couldn't help, but wonder if I'd see 13 year old versions of my friends. Kool-Aid dyed hair, Doc Martins, safety pins, baby barrettes, patches on backpacks, Chuck Taylors, babydoll dresses, girls with the word "SLUT" written on their arms, black nail polish.

Yeah. None of that.

What did I see? Lots of old white men (and by old I mean "older than my father" old) and yuppie white men. Oh and some uptight, mean looking women in their 40s who looked like someone dragged them out of the carpool line in Darien, CT.

What is that?

I was the closest thing in line to a refugee from the grunge years and I am 27, wearing a cropped linen blazer for work with jeans that are free of holes.

It was so depressing. There were also no cute, anorexic, anemic looking hungry boys. So sad. There were also no cardigans. Kurt would be so disappointed.

Look, Gus Van Sant, this is a reminder of why the man killed himself: he's a commodity for all of us to read about in the Sunday Styles.