The resurgence of 90's fashion is more than a trend for some people.
I came of age in the ’90s. I smoked my first cigarette , drank my first drink , popped my first pill , and lost my virginity . I buzzed my hair, dyed the stubble black, purple, red. I wore JNCO jeans and went to raves. I watchedand rocked an Ankh and listened to Jurassic 5 and Ani DiFranco. I pierced my belly button . I got a tramp stamp. I haunted vintage stores and Goodwill and wore baby-doll dresses with Doc Martens and chain wallets.
And then I grew up. I stopped wearing so much eyeliner, my shirts got longer, and raves became dinner parties. I removed three separate body piercings. I stopped doing drugs and bought a Subaru. People who hear stories of my feral youth don’t believe me. They can’t quite reconcile the wild child with the woman who now so rarely drinks that people worry I’ve fallen off the wagon when I do.
I’m sure I’m not the only one, but I’ve spent my entire adult life running from who I was as a teen. Not that she wasn’t cool. I always joke that she was much cooler than the current me. She’d find me boring and call me a yuppie: the biggest insult of the ’90s before “hipster” came into power and became the deadliest insult of all. But the truth is, I have fought hard to be boring. To contain myself. To keep my inner chaos in check.
I’ve spent a lot of my 30s thinking about the reasons I made such a hard left out of my teens. I have very few friends from before I graduated college. Most of my lasting relationships I made from 22 on. I have felt so ashamed of who I was, but why? That girl was so bold. She wore vintage silk pajamas and a Superman cape and a toothbrush around her neck and sang in the hallways, ate candy for breakfast, and swam in the ocean in the middle of the night.
And now suddenly all the aesthetics from that period of my youth are in vogue again. My fashion choices, the performance of identity that I chose in my teens, are showing up in magazines and on street corners and on people born after the Y2K scare. It was hard to see these clothes as anything but a giant neon sign flashing, “LOOK AT ME, I FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF, BUT I AM PRETENDING TO FEEL GREAT!” Because that’s how I actually felt in them in the ’90s. But it’s not all bad.
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