My Favorite Decade

It's been a long day and I'm Fred Flinstone tired (remember when he was so tired he propped toothpicks in his eyes?) Yup, been a long one. And, since I have to be at a TV station with one of my clients at the crack of dawn, tomorrow's looking to be another marathon day! Since I am too tired to be creative, I thought I would share a recent column with you about my favorite decade. (Don't forget to watch my first webisode if you haven't already -just scroll down).

Ah, the good old ‘80s. I just knew they would come back. I held out hope that my boxy blazer with the enormous shoulder pads would someday, in some way, be useful once again. Others doubted me, but I held strong, refusing to give up my Flashdance sweatshirt and Reebok high tops.

Now I’m ready – are you?

According to Glamour magazine, the fashions of the 1980s are officially back, with all their neon radiance. So break out your leg warmers, acid washed jeans and Members Only jackets and get ready for some really big hair. I’m all set in that department since my hair has been freakishly large since about 1982. I think I’ve mentioned before that my husband often refers to my hairstyle as the “Nancy Bradford” (Eight is Enough). But really, who’s laughing now? And where is my banana clip?

I remember the 80s so fondly because that was my decade. Those were the years I went to high school and college. Those were the years during which I had no financial obligations, no long-term commitments, really no purpose whatsoever – the good ol’ days.

The problem I find with this most glorious resurgence is that it really only pertains to fashion. I want to bring back the movies and the fads and the carefree, e-mail free, cell phone-free era. I want to watch The Breakfast Club and listen to a Duran Duran record on my stereo. I want to play Pac-Man and check my Swatch watch for the time, only to realize that I have no particular place to go. I want to say “What you talkin’ bout Willis” and “Where’s the Beef?” and have someone’s eyes light up when they make the connection. I want to try and solve the Rubik’s Cube – Not!

But it’s only the clothes after all.

I can don my Jordache jeans and plaid vest and sing karaoke to “Tainted Love” but it just won’t be the same. You need everything else to make it authentic – you need the old Madonna, the new episodes of Dynasty and the fanatical hype that surrounded Luke and Laura’s wedding on “GH.” You need the brat pack and Princess Di and Bueller…Bueller…

Oh, we can pretend that we’re back, but are we really?

It was only twenty years ago but a lifetime ago in terms of where we have been - the Cold War, the Challenger disaster, 9-11, the high-tech revolution. It’s hard to bring something back in another context. It’s like trying to recreate a honeymoon – you can go back to the same place but things look different when you are older, wiser (and a little ‘thicker’). You just aren’t willing – or sometimes even capable of – doing the stupid stuff you did years ago.

It’s a bitter sweet thing for me. And it might be difficult to even pull off the fashion at this point. I just don’t look as good in leg warmers. And where will I wear my 80s outfits – to work? I can just imagine the look on my boss’s face as I appear in my Madonna “Like a Virgin” get up. Or my kids’ reaction when I pick them up from school in my Olivia Newton John “Let’s Get Physical” outfit. They would never admit to knowing me, and for good reason.

So as much as I would like to embrace the comeback of my favorite decade, I am sorry to say that my participation will be superficial at best. I still look half-way decent in a snug-fitting pair of jeans and I can probably pull off a bright-colored belt and some large hoop earrings. But I won’t be wearing fingerless gloves and parachute pants, and I certainly don’t intend to shoot for the Molly Ringwald look in “Sixteen Candles.” It just can’t be re-mastered.

But the hair - the hair I can do with pride. And I can still remember most of the lines from When Harry Met Sally (“Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash, but I’d be proud to partake in your pecan pie”)and all the words to Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire (“Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal, suicide…”)

I am like so totally hip.