Updated: Dec. 20, 2015
Originally Published: May 21, 2015
In the summer of 1982, I devised a strategy to indulge in more MTV content. I craved my MTV fix desperately. I often sulked about, catching fleeting glimpses of Martha Quinn, Nina Blackwood, and Adam Curry’s remarkable hairstyles. However, my sister and I truly satiated our cravings during Friday Night Videos. Babysitting provided a unique opportunity, as I discovered that MTV was a delightful perk of a job that paid a mere dollar an hour. SHHH. Kids, I can’t hear Kevin Cronin belting out “I Can’t Fight This Feeling.”
By the time Headbangers Ball debuted, my sister and I were fully immersed in the hair band phenomenon. Bon Jovi launched their iconic album, Slippery When Wet (cue the chuckles at the suggestive title), in 1986, and our family was bursting with New Jersey pride. I frequently reminded my teenage peers that I was a New Jersey native, making me practically related to Jon. During family trips to the New Jersey shore, I proudly donned a T-shirt proclaiming “Jersey girls … best in the world.” It’s no surprise that every lifeguard on the beach paused to chat with me. I was blissfully naive about the shirt’s implications at the age of 15. My cheeky mother, who sported a shirt featuring a cartoon of two feet sticking out of a van with the slogan “Do it in a van” (ah, the glorious ’70s), didn’t exactly offer any guidance.
Each time “Livin’ on a Prayer” played on MTV, I was spellbound. Those hairstyles! The frosted highlights! Richie’s hat! Tico’s soul patch! They were like long-haired superheroes, effortlessly soaring through our screens. Soon, a poster of Jon Bon Jovi found its way onto our hallway wall. Ironically, neither my sister nor I hung it there; it was my 5-foot-tall, effortlessly cool mom who wanted a glimpse of Jon every time she passed our rooms.
I felt compelled to acquire the must-have fashion item of the year: a denim jacket adorned with white fringe. I wore that jacket incessantly, and it made frequent appearances in photos that year. Okay, perhaps two years. Fine, three years. My mom might still have it tucked away in her closet.
The album produced an endless stream of hits. “Livin’ on a Prayer,” “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and “Wanted Dead or Alive” transformed us into karaoke stars long before karaoke was a trend. Every school dance featured air guitar performances as we raised our hands, belting out “Whooa-o! We’re halfway there!” I can still recite each verse without a moment’s thought; the lyrics flow effortlessly from my lips.
By the time I entered college, my Slippery When Wet cassette was completely worn out. The New Jersey album was still making waves, and “I’ll Be There for You” echoed in my mind as I bid farewell to childhood friends in 1989. Coincidentally, this was the year my parents finally decided to get cable. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad.
My new circle of friends comprised a mix of polished sorority girls and fellow rock enthusiasts. When I joined the rowing team, word spread that I was a headbanger who frequented concerts at Bogart’s on Vine Street. A senior rower humorously dubbed me “Metallica” in homage to my musical preferences, and the nickname stuck. To this day, my rowing friends still refer to me as “Mega.” It certainly sounds better than “Bon Jovi” as a nickname; otherwise, novices would have mistaken my name for “Bon” rather than “Megan,” as they often did—long story short.
The boys I dated during my early college years bore a resemblance to Jon Bon Jovi—if you squinted and viewed them from a distance, of course. Hair bands were at their peak, and my best friend and I aimed to meet as many long-haired rock stars as possible. I have snapshots with Enuff Z’Nuff, Dangerous Toys, Mr. Big, Skid Row, Danger Danger, and other various one-hit-wonder bands. No, I won’t be sharing those.
However, the early ’90s brought Nirvana, which transformed my rock music nirvana into chaos. Grunge overshadowed metal, leading to the quiet demise of bands related to Bon Jovi, such as Cinderella, Winger, and Extreme. Interestingly, many of these bands still tour, catering to middle-aged metal enthusiasts like myself.
Now, my 4-year-old son predominantly favors country music, given our Texas roots, but occasionally a song captures his interest, prompting him to dance. He enjoys specific tracks by AC/DC, Motley Crue, and the Honeydrippers, with “Beth” by KISS and “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses being his preferred lullabies.
I assured my husband I wouldn’t hang a Jon Bon Jovi poster in our hallway, though.
This article aims to reflect on a youthful obsession with music and how it intertwines with our identities. For those interested in exploring related topics, you can find more information about home insemination resources at this excellent site.
Summary:
This article revisits the nostalgia of growing up in the 1980s and 1990s, highlighting the profound impact of hair bands like Bon Jovi on adolescence. Through personal anecdotes and cultural references, the author illustrates the connection between music, identity, and the experiences of growing up.