It was at the tender age of 11, amidst the aisles of a grocery store, that I experienced my first brush with embarrassing teenage obsession. While my mom was busy picking out fresh produce, I wandered over to the magazine rack, where a shiny publication caught my eye. The cover of BOP magazine, with its vibrant pink bubble letters, was impossible to resist. Although the cover prominently featured the dreamy Kirk Cameron, I was immediately drawn to the smaller image of Michael J. Fox nestled at the bottom.
I was a devoted fan of Family Ties, tuning in every evening at 7:30 p.m. in my parents’ room, avoiding the living room like it was some sort of forbidden territory. Little did I know this obsession would take a turn I never saw coming. That day, Michael’s captivating gaze from the magazine cover sparked something within me that I couldn’t quite articulate; I was smitten. I needed that magazine.
But then, my heart sank when I spotted the price tag—$1.95. I could already hear my mother’s familiar refrain: “Maybe later.” This was her polite way of saying, “Not a chance!” I reluctantly flipped through the magazine one last time before returning it, and lo and behold, it opened to a stunning mini poster of Michael J. Fox!
In a moment of reckless abandon, I did something I never thought I would—I stole the poster. “This is wrong!” my conscience shouted, but my teenage hormones overruled, declaring, “But it’s for love!” I snuck the mini poster into my pocket, avoiding the gaze of nearby shoppers, and felt a mix of exhilaration and guilt as we left the store. But once I arrived home and laid eyes on Michael’s glossy image, all my guilt vanished. I tucked him under a book to flatten out the creases, then carefully taped him inside my trusty Trapper Keeper, ready to gaze at him during school.
However, one poster was quickly insufficient. I found myself back at the grocery store, and once again, Michael smiled at me from a new issue of BOP. This time, he was featured as a centerfold, looking like a Canadian Bruce Springsteen, and I couldn’t resist taking it. After that, I nearly lost my lunch from guilt, but my craving for Michael’s images only intensified. I began to realize there were other teen magazines worth exploring. Tiger Beat, for instance, offered charming wallet-sized cutouts!
Soon, I started earning some pocket money and bought my first magazine legitimately. I meticulously cut out every Michael J. Fox pinup I could find, and by the time the New Kids on the Block became a phenomenon, my obsession with teen magazines was in full swing. I didn’t even need to shop at the grocery store anymore, thanks to my friend Tyler, whose stepmother owned a bookstore. Tyler had access to all the latest teen magazines, including the elusive Big Bopper, known for its oversized centerfolds. He sold them at a discount, and if you didn’t snag one in the morning, they were gone by lunch.
Yes, I had a dealer. Don’t judge me!
Despite my walls being plastered with posters—one wall for the New Kids on the Block, another for individual cut-outs of each member, and a special section for my crush, Donnie Wahlberg—I still felt an insatiable desire for more. One fateful morning, I rushed over to Tyler, eagerly anticipating my latest haul. But when he opened his bag, I was met with a YM magazine and a Thrasher. “What am I supposed to do with these? Where’s the good stuff?” I snapped, only to learn that another girl had beaten me to the punch. Her name was Lisa, and consumed with jealousy, I plotted how to reclaim my magazine glory.
I had a problem, and I knew it. Eventually, I apologized to Lisa for my hostile attitude and even turned down her generous offer of an extra BOP issue. That was the point when I phased out my magazine poster craze. I let my subscription to Super Teen lapse and ignored Tyler’s offers of new glossy issues. By year’s end, most of my posters came down, leaving only a couple of Donnie Wahlberg, later replaced by a gigantic poster of Mark Wahlberg in his iconic Calvin Kleins.
Reflecting on that chapter of my life brings a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment. I cherish those carefree days when my biggest worry was how to sneak a poster out of a store, but I also feel a twinge of shame for my past misdeeds. To Tyler, wherever you are, I’m sorry. And to the girl who picked up a BOP magazine only to find a missing pull-out poster: that was me. I confess, and I’m truly sorry.
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In summary, my teenage obsession with teen magazines led to some questionable choices, but it was also an exciting phase of my life. Those glossy pages introduced me to a world of feelings and experiences that shaped who I am today.
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