Charlotte’s my diary. Duh. Doesn’t every little girl name her diary? I mean, Anne Frank famously named her diary Kitty (NOT that I’m comparing myself to Anne Frank). And as soon as I named her (yes, my diary has a gender identity), she became a friend. A confidant. A trusted adviser. Someone who I could share all of my secrets with and she wouldn’t tell a soul. Not intentionally at least. It wasn’t her fault if someone entered my bedroom, picked her up, and started reading. Of course, if that happened, I probably would have benched her for a while, punishing her for not somehow protecting herself from prying eyes. But as far as I can tell, she always kept our secrets. Until now.
I first named my diary on June 16, 1996. I started with regular journal entries (I began writing in second grade; what can you expect?), then switched to Dear Diary, then to Dear Charlotte. All within my first diary. And from then on, all my diaries were named Charlotte.
So why? Who is she? Well, she actually has a pretty cool story. In June 1996, my elderly neighbor gave me a beautiful paper doll that she made by hand in 1922 when she was 12 years old. In addition to the doll, she designed a wide variety of fabulous outfits made out of advertisements from magazines. When I asked my neighbor the name of this flapper, she said that she had never named her. I found this hard to believe (every doll has a name!), but I didn’t protest and decided that she looked like a Charlotte. Although Charlotte is now an old lady (almost 93 years old!), she’s still gorgeous and owns an enviable wardrobe, as she models for us above and below.