Let me explain. I have recently become infatuated with the charmingly witty comedy series, Ugly Betty. I owe all my thanks to Netflix instant streaming, since the show is no longer on the air.
Betty Suarez is a latina from Queens who acquires the position of executive assistant to the wealthy bachelor, Daniel Mead, Editor in Chief for Mode Magazine. A fish out of water, Betty transcends the supercilious back stabbing world of fashion-dom by being her intelligent, and sometimes naive, self. While Betty's character embodies wholesome purity and goodness, one cannot help but wish for a makeover for her, while simultaneously coveting the bodies/wardrobes of her trendy, pretentious peers.
And this brings me to my ultimate confession. While Mode Magazine is a symbol of style and chic elegance, Ugly Betty and her middle class Queens family and abode represent reality, down to earth, and raw. While I would love to consider myself worthy of the symbol so elegantly represented by Mode, who am I really?
The answer lies in my blanket. Yes. My blanket. Today, while watching a second episode of Ugly Betty on my instant queue, I happened to notice Betty's nephew, Justin, nestled on the couch after a long day helping his working class mother bake muffins for her new entrepreneurial venture, upon my blanket. Yes, thrown across the back of the Suarez family couch was a woven blanket in burnt red and olive, the very same blanket that, at that exact instant, I was cocooning myself with in the name of cozy comfort. So, who am I? Mode or Queens? Well, I believe it is fully apparent: I am Queens. I shop at the same store as Betty Suarez!
