An Open Letter To Vanessa Carlton For Her 32nd Birthday

It appears that, following in the footsteps of the Goservention, which intervened on Amelia’s obsessive fandom with Ryan Gosling, we are going to have to have a Vanessa Carltonvention with our intern Daley. — Jessica

Dear Vanessa,

You know those idiots who have come up to you saying “Oh my God, Vanessa, I’m like, your biggest fan”! Well, V, they’re wrong. Those bitches ain’t got nothin’ on me.

I was 11 when “A Thousand Miles” came out. I knew I was over the moon in love after watching you magically fly down the street, pounding on your gorgeous piano, with that mysterious owl and those awesome red wrist sweatbands.

Time passed by, but don’t worry, you didn’t live in my precious memory. I made sure to keep you alive in my daily pursuits, emulating you in every way possible. I was 13 when I asked my mother to curl my straight hair almost every day in junior high so I could look like you. In high school, I wore big sweaters and tightly wrapped scarves around my neck in Texas’ 90-degree weather. Now that’s loyalty.

When college applications rolled around, I really only wanted to apply to colleges in New York City, so that I could be in the same time zone.

Within the first few weeks of moving into my NYC dorm, I found out you were performing at Fashion’s Night Out at Ann Taylor, and I was there, front row, with my new-found friends watching you live for the first time. My friends thought I was a total freak, but I know you didn’t. I was one of the few attendees at the event actually watching your performance. After your four-song show, I eyed you walking down the steps, and shouted your name.

“Vanessa!” I screamed a little too loud and, in retrospect a bit un-coolly.

Startled, you turned around.

“Hi,” I said, idiotically waving.

At the time, I thought your smile and wave back would be the highlight of my life. I was wrong. That happened a year later.

That night, I watched you perform in your fluttery, hot pink dress. You told the crowd you would be signing autographs after the show, and when I heard that, I just about died. I texted my parents, “these last 19 years have been nice, but my time here on Earth is up. I’m about to meet my One and Only.”

I bought everything of yours that was available to sign, including your CD, songbook, poster and chocolate. As I approached the table, in my Vanessa-inspired outfit and pierced nose (you had yours pierced, so, naturally, I had to get my done, too), I told you how I idolized you and truly believed that you are the best musical artist I’ve ever known. You shyly smiled and said, “Thank you so much. I’m glad you connect with my music so well.”

I then confessed that I’d seen you a year earlier at Ann Taylor, and you laughed saying: “Awkward, right?,” referring to the miniscule crowd that night. I laughed, too, stepped aside, walked off to a corner and bawled my eyes out over our shared giggle. Wow. You remembered me. Or no, was it you remembered that night? How embarrassing is this?

You turned 32 yesterday, and I wanted you to know you still look like time has not passed you by. I know I couldn’t be there to celebrate with you, but you know I’d walk a Thousand Miles if I could [have] just seen you [last night].

Your One and Only,


Contact the author of this post at [email protected], especially if you are Vanessa Carlton and you’d like to be my BFF.