It took me a long time to understand celebrity crushes. They’ve always seemed so irrational to me.
I never had posters of New Kids on the Block or Jonathan Taylor Thomas hanging in my bedroom as a pre-teen. I never screamed and cried at a One Direction concert or pasted their photos inside my locker. I refused to take sleepover games of M.A.S.H., which were designed to predict my future through pencil, paper, and lists, dead serious (I knew I would never live with Ryan Gosling in a beach shack with our twenty-seven children.) Continue reading