2010 Kimmy Kimm & Lulu Chu May 2026

Kimmy was the architect. She was tall, with a planner color-coded in six shades of gel pen, and she knew that the key to their future was visibility. Lulu was the heart. She was small, quick to laugh, and could make a friendship bracelet out of dental floss and sheer will.

“It’s not about the song, Lu,” Kimmy typed, thumbs flying on her pink BlackBerry Curve. “It’s about the brand .”

“We were the only ones who had fun,” Kimmy agreed, wiping a smear of cheese salt off her blazer.

They came in fourth place. The winner was a boy who played “Wonderwall” on an acoustic guitar and cried afterward.

The problem was the costumes. Kimmy wanted matching sequin vests. Lulu wanted to go as “chaos fairies” with ripped tights and fake eyelashes. They argued for three days via BBM, the little “R” for Received taunting them both.

They didn’t know that in two years, Kimmy would move to a city with better prep schools, and Lulu would find a crew of art kids who painted murals on abandoned walls. They didn’t know that Facebook would become ancient history, or that their BBM chats would vanish into the digital ether.

Then Lulu burst out laughing. “You look like a junior stockbroker.”