Cartoon Confections With a Hint of Vanilla

Mysterious Mermaids Necklace

Sweatshirt: Kohl's

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Shoes: BCBG, Macy's

Bag: Krystala Creations, Etsy

 Yummy Gummy Bears Necklace

Tee: Wet Seal

Tank: Boscov's

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Jacket: Vanilla Star, Kohl's

 Crazy for Candy Necklace

Tee: Target

Jeans: Vanilla Star, Target

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

Candy Dish Necklace

Tee: Kohl's

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Uniquely Different, Etsy

According to pop psychology, people gravitate toward childhood favorites because they remind them of a simpler time.  Although I'm sure that that's true, I like to think that it's the style as well as the sentiment that keeps 1980s icons such as The Little Mermaid, Care Bears, My Little Pony, and MTV in my outfit orbit.  Tricked out with trinkets fashioned from my new favorite supply source, Delish Beads, these tees mix nostalgia with no-holds-barred bubblegum bliss.  

Speaking of the era of excess, the husband and I recently indulged in an outing that capitalized on its camp factor in spades.  Which is to say that we went to see Vanilla Ice.  I've said it before and I'll say it again; I talk about Vanilla Ice way too much on this blog.  But he was appearing at The Pool at Harrah's, an opportunity too wonderfully weird to pass up.  I'd always wondered what went on at The Pool.  A pool by day and a club by night, it was a hot spot known for hosting second-string stars such as Paris Hilton, the Jersey Shore's Pauly D., and, most recently, "Saved by the Bell's" Mr. Belding (also known as Dennis Haskins, although I'm not sure by whom) during its Pool After Dark events.  After navigating a maze of confusing lines late on this particular Saturday night, the husband and I were finally ushered into the club, which turned out to be a gapingly glamorous man-made oasis lush with palm trees and bars and cabanas, all tucked beneath the sheltering glass of a dome, not unlike, as the husband noted, the one in that unfortunate Pauly Shore flick Biodome.  We got our drinks and nursed them over the next couple of hours amid bachelorette parties, bands of boys, and the odd overly frisky couple, but mostly yawningly empty space.  We ended up leaving before the Ice made his entrance, never to know if he would burst out in a beard and suspenders in an homage to his own "Vanilla Ice Goes Amish" reality show only to strip down to zuma pants and a neon tee.  (Having written that, maybe it was the prospect of him stripping at all that forced us to flee.)  

Truth be told, I don't think we missed out on much.  It was a night made for club kids and fans with a capital F, as evidenced by a woman in line who confided that she owned all of Vanilla Ice's albums.  As someone who isn't a fan with a capital F of anything except for maybe BLTs and bargain basement beads, I was out of my element.  Kind of like a middle school nerd who'd braved the Friday night dance only to end up camping out on the bleachers.  But that was okay.  Blasting "Ice Ice Baby" on the car ride home next to my forever dance partner was better than any over-hyped, hard-to-hear live performance.  Better than better, but best.  Quite fitting considering the words of that beloved one hit wonder wisely advising us that, "anything less than the best is a felony."