An Anthem of Nineties Sentiment

Something happened around 1992 that was more gripping to the young anklebiters or, dare I say, rugrats of the world, than Bill Clinton’s presidency or the separation of Prince Charles and Princess Diana or the birth of Miley Cyrus. True, the gelatinous, green substance known as “slime” had existed since the days of You Can’t Do That On Television, starring the glorious, pocketed-hand Alanis Morissette. But it was around this time that the youth of America began to cling to a Gak-laden era dressed in stirrupped leggings and Blossom hats.

There is a certain simplicity captured in the nineties that neither the Baby Boomers nor the Millenials can quite grasp. Sandwiched between these generations is a group of individuals who understood that they were once technologically on the brink of something bigger than Tamagotchis and Gameboy pockets, but who were beyond satisfied to watch a popsicle stick with googly eyes and a low self-esteem introduce their favorite television shows every weekday after school. It wasn’t low budget, it was friggin’ adorable.

This nineties-bred legion of Darias and Dougs is not out to shake a disgruntled, elderly fist at the young, Bieber-loving, finger-swiping youngsters of today. Rather, we are here to celebrate the finer times of being super strong and super naked. We are here to expose teenagers to the likes of Lori Beth Dinberg, to empower college-goers to fly as high as Quail Man, to educate SNL viewers that Kenan Thompson had another half and that he, indeed, dropped the screw in the tuna. With the installment of shows such as Fuller House and Girl Meets World, it is undeniable that there is an army out there with a desire to revive the spirit of Corey and Topanga’s romance while simultaneously hushing the naysayers and “how ruder’s” of the world.

In the nineties, there was time—time for epic, catchy-chorus theme songs, time for the Kid’s Cuisine to heat unevenly in the microwave (don’t forget to remove the brownie first!), time to await the cacophonous beeps and buzzes of a near AOL connection before the glorious “Welcome!” met your ears.

There was acceptance. Sure, none of those original Jumanji animals looked at ALL real, but gosh, those moviemakers tried. Sure, those beautiful Spice Girls-inspired platform shoes and pleather pants were overtly impractical in school hallways, but God, they looked good. Sure, the Creepy Crawlers likely contained harmful carcinogens and hazardous substances that could singe flesh or wreak havoc on unsuspecting eyeballs, but they were a scientific magic Bill Nye would applaud. Sure, “da bomb” sounded obnoxious even from the lips of Carson Daly, but we’d take it as credible critique terminology any day.

There was color. From Lisa Frank trapper keepers to the Snick couch; from complacent mood rings to blazing troll hair; from butterfly clips to Screech’s pants; the nineties were a kaleidoscopic tango of Clueless plaids and Beetlejuice stripes.

Before we were dying young girl’s hair silvery gray, we were frosting our tips.

Before we were slowing our lives to a Paleolithic, clean-eating, green-smoothie, carrot-juicing, whole food pace, we were Slimming Fast.

Before we were taking saltine-cracker challenges, we were eating Warheads.

Before we were using a YouTube to MP3 converter, we were Napstering.

Before we were Wikipedia-ing, we were Cliffs-noting.

Before we were Tweeting, we were away-messaging.

Before we were drinking Queen B’s lemonade, we were raising Destiny’s Child.

So, to all of you post-nineties darlings clinging to a rebirth of plaid shirts tied around the waist and hopeful reboots of Friends (I think it’s a lost cause): we do not condemn you. We salute your shorts for saving the bell. Thanks for keeping the better times alive.