When I was in high school, Weetzie Bat was the underground required reading for girls who wore pilly cardigans and name dropped fanzine editors. For those who read it, it almost so special that we didn’t want to tell anyone else about it. I remember feeling that way a lot actually; holding something so close to my heart that I didn’t want to give it away. It’s because these things had saved me, were saving me, and my biggest fear was that they would gain so much popularity that they’d get co opted by the normal kids and ruined (see “Nirvana”).
When you love a book, you don’t just want to read it again, you want to BE it. At least that’s where I go. I didn’t just love Weetzie, I wanted to be her. If Bret Easton Ellis made LA seem like it was all rich kids and gay death human pinwheels, Francesca Lia Block turned the city into a magical punk fairy tale. To be fair, I wanted both versions to exist and sometimes couldn’t decide what I liked better (still feel that way).
Weetzie had a boyfriend, My Secret Agent Lover Man, and a gay BFF. They made movies in “Shangri-L.A.” (Hollywood), lived in a cute cottage, and had weird drama that involved sexual trysts, unplanned pregnancies, and gay lovers with AIDS. DREAM LIFE! Weetzie had bleached blond hair and was probably really thin. In my brain she sort of looked like a young Belinda Carlisle.
Who owns the film rights? Does Francesca Lia Block still rule? All these questions and more can be answered on your local Wikipedia page (or by doing more research).
LYMI, Lesley
