LINDSAY WAGNER

Oh, Lindsay.  I've wanted to be you since I was about three years old. By the final season of The Bionic Woman, I felt a kinship with you that spiraled into a delusion that I, too, would someday develop bionic powers. Apparently I missed the back story about you being a cyborg.

I remember lying in bed at night, listening as hard as I could to the murmur of my parents talking, just waiting for my bionic hearing to kick in. I would jump off the dirt piles in our backyard, blurting out the unmistakable "ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch" sound effects that accompanied all of your gravity-defying stunts on TV.

I also coveted your superhuman Bohemian style: embroidered tops, neck scarves, belted cardigans, broken-in bell bottoms and long blonde locks parted down the middle. You had a very low maintenance, wash-and-go look that was a stark contrast to the mess of multicolored wires that made up your insides. Part hippie, part cyborg. What could be more 70s than that? You and your character, Jaime Sommers, possessed a natural beauty that became nearly impossible to find on TV once Dynasty's enormous shoulder pads took over the airwaves just a few years later. 

The Bionic Woman was at the height of its popularity when I was in kindergarten. Around that time, my friends and I were being relentlessly teased and bullied by the boys at our school who looked up our skirts, called us names and pushed us off the monkey bars. In those humiliating moments, I would imagine harnessing my bionic superpowers and throwing a 30-foot tree trunk at them. The Jaime Sommers character emboldened me to stand up to those boys who enjoyed picking on their female counterparts. Along with the inimitable Lynda Carter and the first batch of Charlie's Angels (who will likely be featured in future posts), I credit Lindsay Wagner with teaching me a very important lesson: just because a girl is pretty doesn't mean she can't also kick ass.