Seventies-themed parties were the highlight of my college years, and the thought of rummaging through my wardrobe for the perfect blend of bell-bottoms, platform shoes, and psychedelic shirts—items I had swiped from my mom’s closet—filled me with excitement. To complete the look, I would fluff up my naturally curly hair into a fabulous, oversized afro, stick a pick in it, and off I went.
As a child of the ’70s, I felt a connection to that era, even if my knowledge was mostly derived from vintage photos and reruns of old shows. My older colleagues during internships and my first job seemed baffled when we shared our excitement about these events. I often wondered, “How could they not know? They lived through it!” The ’70s were undeniably cool—who didn’t enjoy a good boogie?
Fast forward nearly two decades to my late 30s, and I stumbled upon a photo from an internship in the late ’90s. My son’s babysitter, Lily, a college student in her early 20s, spotted it on the kitchen table.
“When was this taken?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
“I think it was 1999.”
“I can totally tell by the clothes! I’m really into ’90s fashion and shows right now. This looks just like something from that decade!”
I raised an eyebrow. To me, the denim shirts and floral skirts felt perfectly normal. I couldn’t believe it had been 16 years since that moment. “Lily, when were you born?”
“1995.”
That was the year I graduated high school.
Lily became a window into the college life of the 2010s, a bridge to a world I felt distanced from. Over the following months, I discovered that ’90s nostalgia had become a full-blown trend, with parties celebrating the decade I came of age in, filled with flannel shirts and references to Seinfeld.
I resisted the urge to shake my fist and yell at the kids to get off my lawn! The local university bookstore even hosted a ’90s throwback event, and I felt compelled to attend. I rifled through my closet for a mismatched outfit from my youth—a flannel shirt, a FUBU baby tee, and a floppy pink hat.
Some students recognized the flannel, but the rest? Not a clue. I had to remind myself that they were born in the mid-’90s and only grasped the decade through a narrow lens. I tucked away my beloved items in shame; they just didn’t understand.
A few days later, I shared my thoughts with coworkers about how young these kids are and how they seemed oblivious to the significance of the era that shaped me. They chuckled and shared their own stories, with a 70-year-old semi-retired colleague reminding me that it only gets tougher from here.
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In summary, I’ve come to realize that mocking the younger generation for their nostalgia can be a slippery slope, as we all inevitably age and find ourselves in their shoes one day.