Watashi no Saisho no Futari no Aidoru
私の最初の二人のアイドル
My First Two Idols
My first two idols were simple.
They were girls on magazine covers — beautiful, confident, and unforgettable. And to a young girl growing up with big dreams and long brown hair, they were everything.
The first was Brooke Shields.
I might have been very young when Blue Lagoon came out, but I saw her everywhere. On covers. In ads. In the cultural air of the era. She had this long, thick, shiny brown hair and eyes that looked straight through the camera — past the lens, past the magazine page, and directly into you.
To me, she was perfection. She was elegant. She was what a model was supposed to be.
And I loved her.
I had long brown hair just like hers, and I protected it as if it were part of my identity. I didn't want anyone to touch it. Not my mother, not a hairdresser — nobody. That hair made me feel connected to something glamorous, something larger than my everyday life. It made me feel like I already belonged, just a little, to the world of models.
But eventually, the day came when I had to let it go.
A hair magazine job. I remember sitting in the chair, hearing the scissors slice through those long strands, feeling that strange cocktail of fear and excitement rise up in my chest. It felt like growing up in a single moment. Like stepping across an invisible line — from the girl who admired models into something else entirely.
There was also that famous Calvin Klein jeans ad.
Brooke looked straight into the camera, cool as glass, and said: "Nothing comes between me and my Calvins."
Back then, I thought it was just cool. Stylish. Sophisticated. The kind of thing glamorous people said.
It wasn't until I was about thirty-five years old that it hit me.
I remember the exact moment. I was just going about my day when suddenly — Oh wait a minute... she's not wearing underwear.
I laughed out loud at myself.
All those years. All that admiration. And I had completely missed the message behind one of the most talked-about ads in fashion history. It was one of those moments that makes you realize how innocent you once were — and how quietly the world had changed around you while you weren't looking.
My second idol was Madonna.
I carried her album to junior high school like it was a treasure. The black-and-white cover of Borderline felt bold and rebellious, and I wanted everyone to see it. Madonna wasn't just pretty — she was fearless. She didn't ask permission to be herself. She created her own style, her own voice, her own rules.
And I loved that too.
She represented freedom to me. The freedom to be different. The freedom to be noticed. The freedom to dream bigger than the place you came from.
For a long time, those two women — Brooke and Madonna — lived in my imagination as symbols of beauty and possibility. They were my first examples of what a woman could become when she stepped into the spotlight and refused to look away.
But life has a way of changing your perspective.
As the years went on, Madonna began to feel different to me. Her image grew darker, stranger, more cryptic — less like the bold girl I had admired and more like someone searching for something she couldn't quite name. Somewhere along the way, my admiration quietly faded.
Then in 2015, everything changed.
That was the year I truly found God.
And on that day, something very quiet — but very profound — happened inside me. I realized I didn't need idols anymore. Not celebrities. Not models. Not performers.
Because the moment I found faith, I understood something I hadn't been able to put into words before: the only one I ever needed to look up to was already there. Had always been there.
Brooke Shields and Madonna were the only two idols I ever had. They were real parts of my journey — bright, glittering signposts along the road. But they were never meant to be my destination.
The day I found God was the day I stopped looking up to idols.
And started looking up for guidance.
次の章へ — To the next chapter.