THE WOUNDED CHILD

Today in Sprouts, a large health food grocery store, I encountered a woman with teased bleached blond hair and bright pink exaggerated make up. She was wearing an outfit composed of fuchsia pink trimmed corset, animal print mini skirt, hello-kitty purse, plunging low cut top exposing sagging D-cup breasts and pink, fur-lined booties.  It wasn’t until I returned home to search on Google that I discovered it was the 80’s and 90’s LA billboard icon, Angelyne. Her claim to fame is that she became well known for posing for billboards throughout Los Angeles as a pouting, busty, sex-kitten. She landed a handful of roles in films and talk shows as a result. Her fame apparently was short-lived, and she had to short-sell her Malibu Condo a few years ago.

Angelyne

All the store patrons waiting to check out their groceries averted their eyes to the loudly dressed middle-aged woman. The long term effects of too many collagen or Botox injections made her appear puffy and misshapen. She stood behind me in line and appeared nervous, hurried, and uncomfortable. Angelyne’s days of being a billboard ingénue were clearly behind her even if she still dressed like one.

If a woman like that appeared in a grocery store in New York (where I grew up), no one would blink an eye, and maybe in Los Angeles this is normal. But in Thousand Oaks, an upper middle class suburb about an hour north of LA, she stood out. The feeling of discomfort from the store patrons was palpable. I desperately wanted to break the ice and talk to her. 

“I love your look.” I said. This was not a facetious comment. I meant it. There is something oddly brave about a person that wears their wounded self on their sleeve. There is no doubt that this strange costume is a masquerade for a person badly in need of attention. But maybe not the kind she was receiving at Sprouts. The moment I complimented her, I could feel all the tension in her body ease. “Thank you!” she replied, offering to give me her card in exchange for letting her go in front of me on the line. Perhaps in Angelyne’s world, receiving her business card was a privilege. Regardless, I was happy to oblige. She complimented me on my purse and my necklace. Did she feel a need to return the favor of my simply being nice to her? 

We spoke a little more after that, and I could sense that deep down Angelyne needed someone to see the real person, not the caricature she has become, wearing makeup and tight fitting clothes as a shield. I have an extra-special empathy for the wounded soul. And Angelyne, although cloaked in her old sex-kitten attire, seemed particularly wounded. I wanted to treat her as a person in the way that the others in the store could not. It is how I need to treat my own wounded child that sometimes needs to be recognized beyond the outer cloak. To do so is priceless.

It was not until I got home, that I looked at the information on Angelyne’s business card. All it said was: 

“To join the Angelyne Fan Club, send $20.00 to . . . Los Angeles. CA . . .”  

Almost priceless that is.

Asandra ©2012