That Percent of the 90s
There are moments in our lives that we feel tethered to, where nostalgia plants its roots, and the associated memories bundle into tidy decades where we can easily revisit them. VH-1 churned out hours of content so we could revel in our past. Portlandia turned a decade into a song (raise your hand if you went to the Jim Rose Circus). Fashion trends are cut from the past and sewn into something new (or turned into chokers).
I’m not sure how much distance you need from a period in time to enjoy returning to it. Does it sneak up on you with a smell or sound? Is it always in sight and one day magically becomes important? Is the window determined by your age? I am powered by this invisible connection, yet remain confused by the draw and randomness of it all.
When I look back, I prefer to skip the ache, the mistakes, and the emotional “revelations”. Sometimes the sound of our own voices is cringe. This applies to my memories as well. Maybe that’s why I feel the strongest pull to the 80s. That’s where toys, MTV, and Esprit live. There was nothing but color and fun. But if I give it some thought, the 90s are my true foundation. High school, art, movies, boyfriends, shows, drinks, college, moving away, living with someone, living alone, jobs, new friends, freedom, dumbness. 15-25 is really something. The most lives were lived. Could be that it’s worth manually dialing my recall settings to that decade and enjoy a little of my old self.
Right here we have a1990-1991amuse bouche — a capsule of pop culture that felt brave and askew and interesting and engaging, opening my eyes and creating a bunch of sparks in my creativity.
Hal Hartley’s “The Unbelievable Truth”. I worshipped this movie. The oddest story of atonement and love with dialogue I’d never heard before, plus a score that stayed stuck in my head. Around this time I decided I wanted to be a film critic. Naturally I have saved some of my old reviews and naturally they are TERRIBLE.
The Pixies were like a chaotic noisy evolution of so much music I liked from the 80s. I had all their albums and was beside myself when they broke up (welllll, sad enough to mention it in my journal). While I love so many of their popular songs Motorway to Roswell was always one of my favorites. Something about the opening chords and the sort of angsty journey that followed. Also, and I’m terrible at describing music, but I always felt like the guitar opening lived in the same universe as The Kids in the Hall credits and even echoed in The Unbelievable Truth. Insert shrug.
I idolized The Kids in the Hall. Weird and witty and so wrong so often. Whether it came through in my writing or photography at the time they were an influence.
I took my first photography class my freshman year. I always like taking pictures. It was a hobby my parents nurtured at any early age. But it wasn’t until around this time that with full access to a darkroom (my mom worked at a newspaper which helped) and the discovery of Mary Ellen Mark that my interest exploded. She made a mark. Pun 100% intended.
How Twin Peaks ever made it to ABC I don’t know. The internet could probably tell me but I’d rather leave it as a mysterious chapter in television history. Not only was the show such a foreign delight, the soundtrack was also this jazzy surreal soothing mix that I played on my cassette player every night for a while. RIP Angelo Badalamenti.
