I walked into Tessa’s house… I’m sorry, mansion, in sweatpants and a bleach-stained Kid Rock tee; the grease clinging to every strand of my honey-brown hair didn’t matter because I’d be wearing a wig. I wondered how many of the girls were doing the same — I mean only half of them are naturally blonde, and I don’t ever remember Britney sporting brown hair.
Ooh, what a twist if one of them decided to be Britney circa 2007.
Oops, I did it again, I played with the shears, lost all of my mane… oh baby, baby.
Sorry — I don’t mean to be insensitive, but as a Britney supporter, I think it’s important we allow some light and laughter onto our past mistakes… I mean, if I couldn’t find the comedy in my previous decisions, well, then my mental health would be in the proverbial toilet.
“OH MY GOD!” I shouted as soon as I saw a yellow plastic snake folded over the glass door to the master shower, “that is actually perfect,” I continued, thumbing my hand down the neck as I peered over at the skimpy gem covered shorts and green bra top.
Tessa yelled from the small enclosure as I heard the last remnants of her pee, “isn’t it amazing?! I’m so fucking glad we’re doing this!” the toilet flushed and the door flung open.
I unnecessarily ran three steps to wrap my arms around my best friend; I hadn’t seen her in at least six months, outside of FaceTime and Zoom, which didn’t do her any justice.
Tessa’s bright blonde hair felt like sunshine; her skin was glowing, and her teeth looked whiter than fresh snow… she was probably using Kendall Jenner’s toothpaste, MOON.
“I cannot believe you’re here!” she screamed into my ear, almost breaking my ribs with her squeeze, “now show me that sexy ass outfit right NOW!” she demanded, eyeballing the black garment bag I hung next to the yellow snake.
I took a breath and gave her another squeeze before requesting a drum roll.
“Okay… are you ready?!” I started, pretending I was an announcer for a title UFC match. “I don’t know if you’re ready for this!” I continued; Tessa smiled and rolled her eyes motioning me to continue. “Coming out of 2003, fully rhinestoned and ready to parrrrty, ladies and gentlement, please put your hands together for Britney’s TOXXXXXICC!” I unzipped the bag to reveal the sheer beige bodysuit covered in crystals.
“Holy SHIT!” Tessa practically squealed, holding it to the bathroom light to watch it shimmer, “this is actually the best thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to need to borrow it after tonight. For what? I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out,” she hung it back up, yanking at her gray cut off sweats.
I was notably pleased. I’d tracked down a seamstress from a well respected studio and commissioned her to put it together… seriously, you would’ve laughed at the shit Pintereset suggested.
If we were going to (finally) do Britney for Halloween, we weren’t half-assing it.
Morgan and Rexi came in next — garment bags in one hand, makeup bins in the other.
Ten minutes later, Blair and Bryanna ran up the stairs together and solidified their real estate in front of the massive mirror propped against the beige wall.
“Okay, guys, whip ’em out!” Tessa pointed towards the dazzling displays of what our youth represented, “Maren and I didn’t come to play,” she clapped in between each word.
Morgan confidentally unzipped her bag to reveal the iconic red latex catsuit which we swooned over while sipping our vodka sodas.
Rexi, already sporting her pigtail braids, had the classic school girl skirt, white top and bobby socks.
Blair showed us the full denim dress and faux diamond choker and I suddenly wished we’d thought to have our boyfriends dress as different versions of Justin.
Bryanna closed out the display with her white lace corset, white skirt, and slew of pearls.
“Put on that VMA performance right the fuck now!” I looked for Tessa’s remote.
We topped our drinks off, put Britney on their flat screen and got to work… on our faces.
Like A Virgin consumed the entire top floor which inevitably prompted a healthy display of hip movement as we all spread different shadow pigments across our eyelids followed by blots of concealer atop the bags. No, there weren’t bags… I just had the one which I’m convinced is a result of sleeping solely on my left side.
“Hey, does anyone have a concealer they love? I’m not fully into mine and I need to look young as hell if I’m going out as 17 year old Britney!” Rexi asked as she dug through her Beis makeup bag.
Blair threw over her Benefit Cakeless tube and all was right in the world.
After mixing and applying two shades of foundation, it was time to bake… or at least, that’s what I think it’s called — I’d never actually attempted the technique before, but the Kardashians do it, so I’m sure that’s what makes their makeup look flawless. Certainly not the laser treatments, consistent facials, botox, and top of the line tools.
I typed ‘Toxic’ into the search bar and tried to recall the dance I made up in eighth grade. Sadly, it did not come, so I hastily followed Britney’s moves in between sips of Belvedere and Bubly.
“Wow, Maren,” Bryanna watched me through the mirror, “that rendition in and of itself will probably Free Britney from the conservatorship.”
The girls laughed with ease and Tessa came to join me as a flight attendant.
“Shit, why didn’t anyone do the turquoise outfit?” I moaned, realizing we could’ve had eight more Britney versions join our troop.
Once I realized I was sweating from the dramatic floor crawling, I decided it was time to swipe off the powder from my face.
“Bitch, you look hella good Bet you didn’t think I would You gonna turn all the heads Then fall asleep in your own damn bed.”
I did my best impression of Issa Rae pep talking herself in the mirror.
“Okay, okay!” Morgan chimed in with her own rap, followed by Rexi’s, which I am crushed we didn’t record.
Once the Ardell lashes were applied and the lipstick set aside, it was time for hair. Two of the girls did theirs while the rest of us shimmied into a nylon cap followed by our synthetic blond wigs.
“Oh my gosh, you guys, I forgot to tell you…” Blair’s voice went up three octaves higher than usual, drowning out Britney’s Circus. “The guy my mom’s seeing does production for Coachella every year; he said he can hook it up if we want to go next year!”
Everyone gasped simultaneously.
“Oh, nah, I’d rather stay in… I don’t really…” Tessa paused, “NOT. ARE YOU KIDDING?! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SITTING ON THAT GEM?! Of course we’re going! And I’m wearing Maren’s shimmery shit if it kills me!”
Coachella guy was the topic of discussion for the next ten minutes, as we adjusted our wigs, finished our watered down vodka sodas and swiped on our lipstick.
“Okay, Tess, time to whip that famous tripod out!” Bryanna called from the bedroom, adjusting her boobs in the barely there white lace corset.
I threw on my recently purchased nude thong and slipped my legs into each opening, feeling the thick mesh slide up my shins and thighs; I had circular pasties that matched my skin tone perfectly (white privilege) which were soon layered by the top half of my jumpsuit.
I walked out of the master closet to see the final product and damn — those lunges paid off.
“Umm, hi, okay,” I looked over at Tessa trying to tie her green top, “you look unreal!” I looped the fabric over each other as tight as I could.
Her eyes widened as she reviewed her soon to be Coachella outfit; left speechless, she replied with an elongated, “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” which prompted the others to join us in the bathroom.
Everyone looked insane in the best way… we certainly did Britney proud, and would soon be instrumental in releasing her from the TOXIC conservatorship, in which everyone wants A PIECE OF HER.