I found myself in a surprising state of melancholy bordering on a binge of weepy off and on today. I am blaming it on cramps, nostalgia and Thirtysomething, in that order. I was overcome with sadness as I sorted through old family photos this afternoon looking for pictures for another post. I picked my way through piles of pictures in no particular order, with few labels and no stories growing more upset with each new pile. I felt this overwhelming pressure to do something with them, tell their story (as much as I can) before it's too late. I don't know what exactly to do, but since many of them are from my parents and grandparents, I am the last link. If I don't attempt to document something, who will? Who will even care is the other question, but I hope Annelise will someday.
Thirtysomething takes some of the emotional blame as well because Disk 1 of Season 1 came from Netflix and I watched it last night. I was immediately thrust back to 1987 and all it's fashion faux paus. I was a faithful viewer of the show in college (being firmly convinced my life would be just like that when I was thirtysomething). I'm not sure why watching it again makes me sad, but it does. Certainly not because I am venturing into fortysomething, I'm sure.
So I decided to try and shove the melancholy aside for a while by doing something fun. Let's make fun of Holly's hair, shall we?
Freshman year, high school: 1982-83
The wings that could withstand all gusts of wind thanks to gallons of Aqua Net hairspray. Not only were hot rollers and curling irons needed in the wee hours of the morning to achieve this look, I carried a butane curling iron in my purse so I could touch up between classes, definitely after PE.
Senior Photo 1986:
I don't know what to call this phase other than poofy. Hot rollers and hairspray were still my best friends. Tweezing (much less waxing) was not.
My hair grew throughout my freshman year. By the time I was a sophomore I found a new best friend, the spiral perm. Because the regular perms just didn't make my hair wide enough.
Somewhere between 1988 and 1989, in a bold move, I went short, super short. Except for my bangs, which somehow remained tall.
Then I let that grow again during 1989, so I could perm it again. Of course.
And even cooler with ripped jeans and shoulder pads.
did I do it? I know you are jealous of my turtleneck and chunky purple floral sweater, aren't ya?
So the dark brown (black?) wasn't really working for me, so I went blond in 1991. Oh, yeah, I'm wearing another flower romper/jumper thing. It had legs, cuffs, empire waist and a zipper up the front. My love for it was clearly misplaced.
Circa 1995. What can I say? I thought perms were my friend.
Or at least my version of it.
I'm proud to say I have not had a perm since 1995. An era has ended, thank goodness. And I said goodbye to The Rachel sometime in the late 90s. Surprisingly, poking fun at my hairstyles and clothes has proved to be quite refreshing. Maybe I should pop in another episode of Thirtysomething and continue the mocking...