What I was going for was the California Girl look: sun-dried hair; a tan and no makeup; clothes that have been described as boho, for sure, but also “gamine-like,” “tomboyish,” and “genderless,” depending on the respective decade. This persona has enjoyed cultural relevance ever since Gidget introduced the then-niche subculture of surfing to the rest of America, because she is so goddamn likable. The California Girl is beautiful, but she doesn’t wield it. She’s open-minded, but isn’t a pushover. She’s confident in herself, always down to hang, loves being outside, is immune to stress, but she’s got a streak of existential sadness that grounds her cheerfulness. She’s the healthier version of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl — a male fantasy, but a female one, too. When I think of California Girl, I think of a carefree Tippi Hedren in her backyard pool, her wet hair plastered onto her back, playfully spitting a stream of water into the face of her family’s pet lion. I, on the other hand, was once yelled at by a stranger for petting her lap dog incorrectly.