My husband has a subscription to Rolling Stone magazine. He didn’t sign up on purpose, it’s just that, as a relatively charming part of his ongoing midlife crisis, he recently took up the bass guitar. It seems that when you buy a bass guitar and the apparently endless numbers of accessory items that go with it you automatically get a subscription to Rolling Stone, even if you are old enough to have ailments that can’t be discussed in polite company.
That’s how I came to have a picture of scantily-clad teen heartthrob Zac Efron on my kitchen table. The accompanying article explains how Zac intends to keep living his regular old normal life even as he’s posing for RS photoshoots that, as far as I can see, are aimed primarily at, shall we say, firming up the circulation amongst RS’s gay male readers.
A few weeks ago my girls took some swimming lessons. When we arrived for the first one, the manager pointed across the pool at their instructor, a 19ish boy named Max.
He’s HOT, I said in my head.
“He’s HOT,” my tween daughter said out loud.
In spite of her precocious appreciation for Max’s hotness, Tigger has no interest in Zac Efron. One of her pals has a poster of poster-boy Zac, and they use it for target practice.
Since ten turns out to be too young for Zac worship, I had to wonder, when we were out shopping this weekend, why High School Musical shows up on the clothing of much younger girls. I’m talking shirts, sweats, socks, and other apparel, all the way down to toddler sizes. My six-year-old doesn’t even know who Zac is, and she certainly didn’t want his picture on her undies. She went with the traditional hearts and flowers motif, thankyouverymuch.
Back in my day, Zac Efron was known as Shaun Cassidy. I had pictures of him all over my bedroom. I guess there must have been Shaun Cassidy t-shirts and whatnot, but I don’t remember ever seeing him on anything sized 4T.
I guess I don’t have anything else to say about this. Just that little girl clothes should be free of teeny-bopper boy toys, and so should Rolling Stone. Why does no one listen to me?