It first hit me in the store of all stores. You might know it: Forever 21, the fashion spot where the threads on your treads start unraveling before you get out the door. I picked up a short hot pink t-shirt dress with a wild, 80s rock silhouette printed on the front. I shoved it back into the rack as quickly as possible. After all, I used to sit and flip through photo albums of my parents and their friends, and giggle about how ridiculous they looked.
But soon, the 80s started to grow on me. Talking to a friend about my new fondness, she said, "If you wore it the first time, you can't wear it the second time." I was a kid, so it doesn't count.
For me, I think the clothes are a part of a bigger whole. There's an elusive endearment hanging over the entire era.
Perhaps it's the music. During adolescence, I was always self-conscious about dancing. I never knew what I had in me. But, now when I hear the twisty, jumpy, 80s tunes, my adrenaline gets going and I can't stand still. I spin and twist until I notice that my heels have been piercing the skin on my big toe. I feel a rhythm in my soul that moves me, both in a literal sense and a figurative, more mental state.
Of course I've heard these songs since, well, early childhood, but I've only recently developed a real curiosity for the sounds and the inspiration behind them. The music of the 80s screams fun, and I can't help but think that the sounds must have inspired the 80s "look," or vice versa. What I used to see as a ridiculous style, I now see as too much fun. The colors, the childlike hairstyles, the ribbons, and even the way tight clothing shows off a body you're proud to own. It looks like a blast because it was!
When I put on the clothes (in small doses) I feel like I'm stepping into the great big party that was the 80s. The mix of bright colors and the whimsical patterns inspire something creative in me.
So now I can't stop dancing. I can't wait until Friday and Saturday, when I can put on a tight dress and blue eye shadow and, well, dance. I've even gotten my, shall I say, hesitant, boyfriend to enjoy dancing, where it used to be something he did for me out of obligation.
One of my best friends, Heidi, and I were were sharing a moment together at the end of her father's memorial service. We were looking at a picture of her mother, who died at the close of the 80s, singing in her father's band, probably sometime near 1984. She was wearing the most 80s outfit you can dream up--stretchy and poofy all in the same ensemble. My friend looked at me and said, "Wasn't she cool?"
Yes, she was. She was the epitome of the 80s, and in may ways the "woman" I think I try to be when I step into stretchy pants and wild colors. I feel lighter. I'm swept over by a "can do" attitude. Nothing is beyond me. I finally let go.
