“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” — Ferris Bueller/John Hughes
The other day, while randomly looking around for a fun movie, I came across a cache of 1980s movies on YouTube. There, in glorious Technicolor, were the images and memories of my high-school and college years. From “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” to “The Breakfast Club,” “St. Elmo’s Fire,” and “Top Gun,” it was a film festival that brought it all back, from the hairstyles to the clothes and the cars.
It’s always a bit cringe to look back and see who we were. In both my high school and college yearbooks, my hairstyle was the quintessential 1980s look, which means I had a mullet and more “feathers and wings” than Big Bird. Baby-blue eyeshadow? Check. Hoop earrings? Check. Fair Isle sweater with Vaccaro turtleneck? Check and double-check.
Some of the ’80s looks are the fashion version of harvest gold and avocado green appliances from the 1970s. Someday, my children or grandchildren will find these photos and probably howl with laughter like I did when I saw a picture of my grandfather wearing a pin-striped suit and a fedora, which made him look like something out of a 1940s film-noir gangster movie. Some of the clothes from the ’80s are returning, though; eBay has Gunne Sax prom dresses that are selling for hundreds. I wish I had kept mine.
It’s not just the clothes though, it’s everything about that time. It was pivotal for me because high school and college are such action-packed years for many of us. It’s when we figured out who we were, what we wanted, and how we would get it. It was friend drama, prom nights, first loves, and broken hearts. Everyone holds a special place in their memory for the events and people from their younger years, and looking back is enlightening. These movies remind us of the days before we knew how we’d turn out.
Much like our parents in the 1960s, we saw shootings on television, with the attempted assassinations of President Ronald Reagan and Pope John John Paul II and the tragic murder of John Lennon. We saw the explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger and the bombing of a Marine barracks in Beirut. We also witnessed Sandra Day O’Connor become the first woman on the U.S. Supreme Court and the first artificial heart implanted in a human patient.
Seeing Ferris Bueller singing on a parade float and narrowly escaping detection by his parents reminded me of my one unsuccessful attempt at cutting class. Watching the Brat Pack navigate Saturday morning detention in “The Breakfast Club” made me remember how lucky I was to have had a group of friends that included real-life versions of “a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal.” For the record, at one time or another during the 1980s, I was all of those things, plus a few more like dork, friend, and fashion disaster.
The years spent in high school, and whatever else we choose to do after that, are much like the toddler years, just with bigger milestones. Our first car becomes just as meaningful as our first steps. I don’t remember when I first walked, but I can still smell the vinyl interior of the 1978 rusted but ready Toyota Corolla wagon that I got as a college graduation present in 1986. It was a hand-me-down car, but it took me everywhere in safety, if not style.
My baby pictures show me in smocked dresses and hairbows, while my high-school snapshots are all about my Nikes and Calvins, swinging a big Marblehead Handprints tote bag. I still have that tote bag, but it’s considered vintage. Not going to lie; that stings a bit because, in my head, those days seem so recent. I can’t be the only one who feels like it was just a few months ago, right?
Vintage is another word for “old.” How can they already be “the old days,” as my daughter has so respectfully described them? She said this while asking me what it was like without cell phones, the internet, and Uber Eats. Seriously, she couldn’t wrap her head around it.
What was it like?
I gave her an honest answer. It was awesome, dude, totally gnarly.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years, and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.