My journey into the world of crushes and celebrity obsessions began at the tender age of 11 in a grocery store. While my mom was busy examining the fresh produce, I wandered over to the magazine aisle, where a shiny publication caught my eye. It was BOP, its title written in vibrant pink bubble letters, a magazine dedicated to teenage fans. While the cover prominently featured Kirk Cameron, it was the smaller image of Michael J. Fox at the bottom that captured my heart.
I adored watching reruns of Family Ties and couldn’t quite grasp the intensity of my feelings for the show until that fateful moment with the magazine. Every evening at 7:30 p.m., I would sneak into my parents’ room to watch it on their small TV, avoiding the living room where the rest of my family gathered. I felt like it was something I had to keep to myself, and it wasn’t until I saw Michael’s charming face on that cover that I realized just how deep my feelings ran. I was smitten. I had to own that magazine.
When I spotted the $1.95 price tag, I internally braced myself for my mom’s inevitable “Maybe later,” which was her polite way of saying “No way!” As I flipped through the magazine, fate intervened; it opened right to a mini poster of Michael J. Fox! In a moment of sheer impulsiveness fueled by my tween hormones, I decided to take it.
“Stealing is wrong!” Good Me protested.
“But it’s for love!” Hormonal Me retorted.
After carefully removing the poster and hiding it in my pocket, I felt a rush of anxiety as we exited the store, fully expecting to be apprehended at any moment. But once I returned home and uncovered Michael’s glossy smile, all guilt vanished. I tucked the poster under a book to smooth out the creases, then secured it inside my Trapper Keeper, ready to admire his handsome face at school whenever I liked.
Days passed, and one poster just wasn’t enough. We found ourselves back at the grocery store, and there he was again—this time, gracing the cover of a new BOP issue, as if he had been patiently waiting for me. I foolishly flipped through it once more, and there it was: a centerfold of him looking like a Canadian Bruce Springsteen. I couldn’t resist; I took it too.
Fortunately, that was the last of my petty thievery; I was overcome with guilt after the centerfold incident. But my obsession with Michael J. Fox was only just beginning. I craved more posters and soon discovered I had to explore other teen magazines. Tiger Beat had wallet-sized cutouts!
After the centerfold escapade, I finally earned some money and bought my first magazine legitimately. I eagerly cut out every article and pinup featuring Michael. As the New Kids on the Block rose to fame, my magazine addiction surged. Instead of grocery stores, I got my fix from my classmate, Ryan, whose stepmother owned a bookstore. He had access to all the hard-to-find teen magazines, including the coveted Big Bopper, known for its oversized centerfolds. Ryan would sell them to me at a discount, but you had to act fast—he sold out by lunchtime.
Yes, I had a dealer. No judgment, please.
Despite my walls being plastered with posters—one wall dedicated to group posters of the New Kids and another to individual ones of Donnie Wahlberg—I always felt there was never enough. One morning, I rushed to Ryan, eager to see what he had in store. But he only had a YM magazine and a Thrasher. “What am I supposed to do with these?” I exclaimed, frustrated. Ryan mentioned another girl snagged all the good stuff, and I felt my blood boil. I was ready to confront her.
I recognized I had a problem. I later apologized to that girl for the death stares I shot her way in class and even turned down her offer of an extra BOP issue. That was the turning point for my magazine obsession. I canceled my subscription to Super Teen and ignored Ryan’s glossy offerings. By the end of the year, I took down most of my posters, leaving only a couple of Donnie’s, eventually swapping them for a massive poster of Mark Wahlberg in his iconic Calvin Kleins.
Looking back, I feel a mix of nostalgia and a hint of shame. I miss the carefree days when my biggest concern was sneaking a poster from a store, but I also regret the stealing and my temper towards a classmate. So, to Ryan and to the girl who found a missing poster in her magazine—I’m truly sorry.