Monday, February 23, 2009

Yé-yé Girls

When I was little I wanted to grow up to be something that I associated with being adorable. Actually, I probably still feel that way. I really can't help it. I don't remember when I first heard the song "La chica yé yé" (buscate una chica, una chica yé-yé/que tenga mucho ritmo y que cante en inglés/con el pelo alborotado y las medias de color...) but I do know that instead of making me think that being a yé-yé girl sounded silly/stupid, it made me want to be one more than anything else. I had a list of things I might want to be. Maybe a housewife, a secretary, or even a baker. At the end of the day though a yé-yé girl just sounded so perfect. I mean they basically started off as a bunch of cute french girls who were chosen as "le chouchou de la semaine" on Salut les copains. I like to think that wearing cute 1960s outfits, singing songs, dancing and being coy sounds like a good career choice.

Even now, I'd probably rather be a yé yé girl than be at college. I'm sure tons of people are going to think that's silly, well too bad. Mostly, I think I wanted/want to be Sylvie Vartan or Chantal Goya. Françoise Hardy is way too pretty, and France Gall's hair sometimes upset me. Except that France Gall sings one of my favorite songs "Sacré Charlemagne" and Françoise Hardy obviously has the hair I've always wanted. And Clothilde sang "Saperlipopette" and Rosalia sang "La chica yé-yé" It's too hard to choose just one! I think I just liked that Chantal Goya seemed sassy and Sylvie Vartan made me wish I could be a blonde. I don't know exactly how much Jillian loves yé-yé girls but I'm going to say it's probably tons. This is because I know how cute she thinks french sounds and because we have basically the same taste in almost everything.

But since neither of us is ever going to get to be one, all we can do is adore them. I can listen to them in the car with Jillian and pretend that "Tous Les Garçons et Les Filles" isn't kind of depressing and listen to "Baby Pop" until my head almost hurts.

Love, María

No comments:

Post a Comment