Culture //

Bowlcut girl

Mira Schlosberg and the one that got away.

Stockholm, mid June. I was in the gift shop of the modern art museum lamenting over the fact that none of the vaguely lesbian paintings were available as souvenir postcards when I saw her. It was magical. You know when you see someone so fucking good-looking that it hurts to look at them and your lungs tighten up and you’re happy but you also want to drop dead? It was like that.

I mean, now I can’t even remember what her face looked like, but at that point it was love at first sight. She had a silky platinum blonde bowlcut and she was dressed all in black and white, with those heeled clog sandals that everyone in the city was wearing. She was gorgeous. Glorious. Even hotter than the tall American in Berlin, who also had an arty blonde hairdo and was dressed head to toe in black, and recommended vegetarian sausages to us in an organic shop and laughed when she heard us swooning over her as she walked away.

But this Swedish girl was at the end of her shift and I watched her wave goodbye to the other girls at the desk and walk slowly away. I was imagining a future where we lived together in the hip suburb of Sodermalm with one or two pet sausage dogs in pink sweater vests.

I spent the next ten minutes staring at a black and white postcard of an Alexander Calder statue mentally drafting the romantic note I could write her and leave with her coworkers before I chickened out and left.

I spent half an hour after that sitting on a bench outside staring out over the water while pining after her until the sky turned a weird pink grey colour and it started to rain.

In the end I mailed her a postcard from the next city I went to. A friend helped me write it while we were drunk off the cheapest white wine we could find in the store. It sounded ridiculous. I told her she was my muse. We googled my name before signing it to make sure my tiny online presence seemed cool enough.

I addressed it to the museum and left it with my friend to mail because I was too scared to do it myself. I don’t know if she looked me up, or if she even got the card. I hope so. Either way, though, it makes a pretty good story, right?

Illustrations by Mira Schlosberg.