everywhere i look, the 90s have been earnestly resurrected into the present. but can you blame people? it was a time of minimalist excess. a time of changing norms and visual definition. a time when the word “cool” had unparalleled reach. Hole fans could still lend an ear to TLC jams because despite the medium, the message was entirely relevant. There was moodiness in the air- possibly due to the amount of work it required to pee when wearing overalls- and that was ok.
now, for my personal highlights.
The Jesus-loving Hanson brothers. These kids were cool because they embodied a wholesomeness that coastal kids, like myself, didn’t come across everyday. The nonsensical melodies, the pre-pubescent notes, the Oklahoma family/god/cult thing- all of it materialized into some feel-good elixir that had me drunk from elementary to middle school. Perhaps due to remnants from a lesbian past-life, i took an immediate liking to Taylor and made a home for him in my thalamus where he lived for a few years, making consistent appearances in my imagination and dreams.
my dearest lisa, the absolute pioneer of fresh. she walked the line between fun funky and fucking crazy with a precision unbeknownst to the world. I will probably think it’s ok to burn down a house one day because of how bad this bitch was/is/will never stop being.
What happened to this bitch? Did she croak? If she didn’t, she could be making a ton of money off kids addicted to ecstasy. or at least sue Jeremy Scott.
pre-Jennifer Aniston becoming the worst member of the female population, this show made me long for a balanced, co-ed 20s devoid of any pronounced goals. Today, I can vouch that this is exactly how I am living my 20s.
the reason i look back to these times with particular fondness is because they allowed you to visually define yourself with an ease and rigor that i feel is befuddled today. Green hair, a pair of steel-toes, and a rogue penchant used to be an outcast’s cry for further ostracizing, a rebel’s yell. Today, it’s like everything’s blurred into one undefined heap in the name of fashion’s all-encompassing reach. Sure, I might have a Daria complex but I wouldn’t even know where to start if i wanted to wear my discontentment today. Hell, if I dressed up like Daria now, I’d be floating in homogeny.
Entertaining ideas like dying my hair purple, getting a tattoo on my titty, and piercing my eyebrow used to taunt me and skeptics alike with the thrill of becoming relatively unemployable. Those were the 90s- when social deviants worked at Hot Topic and tattoo shops, or at best, as hair dressers. Where I grew up, professional stagnation was the price paid for going against the grain and there was a bold line dividing those who considered it well worth it and those who didn’t.
Nowadays, these are the trademarked looks of anybody and everybody. That guy, with the septum ring and Prada creepers over there, yea, he develops apps.