Last week was one of those weeks when only Cher can make me feel better. So, what does one do when it’s been one of those weeks? The only thing you can do: Blast some Cher songs, sing loud and proud, and dance away whatever is bugging you. (So glad I work from home!)
I LOVE Cher. Yes, I admit it. I’m a huge fan. I even went to Vegas just to see her final farewell concert (the first final one). Judge me all you want, but I stand by my love of Cher.
Growing up in the 70s in a very white community as a dark-haired, skinny ethnic kid, there was no one around who looked like me. I was surrounded by blonde hair and blue eyes. So along comes Cher and I am in awe. Here is this skinny, ethnic-looking, dark-haired woman who I think is stunning—and isn’t what you would consider at that time typically beautiful.
I begged my parents to let me watch The Sonny & Cher Show. I was fascinated by Cher—she wore risqué outfits with style and ease, she defied the rules, she had a sharp wit and sense of humor, and she was beautiful. I listened to all her music, and I knew every song. I played Half-Breed over and over, the words comforting me and giving me an outlet for my pubescent angst. She taught me that it was ok to be different. Hell, more than ok, she embraced it and totally put herself out there as original and unique. And I defy anyone to tell me that Madonna and Lady Gaga weren’t influenced by Cher. She is the true original.
So, thanks Cher for getting me through those awkward years of growing up. And thanks for getting me through a rough week.