What goes around...
When I was in my early 20's I remember rocking out to the oldies station while wearing my embroidered bell bottom jeans. I sang about going to San Francisco, tapping my steering wheel as I pressed the gas pedal with my three inch platform sandals.
I wore mini shift dresses, knee high patent platform boots, and wove rhinestone flowers in my hair. My mom laughed and told me she should have saved her clothes from high school, ignoring my rolling eyes because she didn't seem to understand that modern fashion was inspired by the old stuff, not mimicking it.
My 20's were filled with a whirlwind of "vintage" fashion - swing dancing, micro mini business suits, broomstick skirts, and even palazo pants that were oddly similar to gauchos. My girlfriends and I would head to the "Flats" for 80's night, bopping our head to Madonna and Tiffany. I laughed at how excited "older" people got when The Who started the come back tour.
My kids want slap bracelets. I furrow my forehead and wonder where they heard of them. I remember them from when I was a kid and try to tell my gingers about how cool they were while their eyes start to glaze over. I pass girls in college sweatshirts and leggings, clucking to myself how leggings aren't pants and really, they should put on a longer shirt at least.
I see the sweater dresses of my early teen years hanging on the racks of Target. Elizabeth asks for "side ponies" every morning while she puts bangles on her arms and a big bowed headband on her hair. I see girls walking to the high school with their blond hair crimped. Yes. Crimped.
My Facebook feed is filled with "OMG NKOTB/NSYNC!" and I think how much fun it would be, in an ironic way, of course. No really. Totally ironic.
I joke with my friends that I should have saved my over sized sweaters and ponder if slip dresses over baby tees will ever make a comeback. I think fondly of the flannels I wore and wonder if I'll finally be able to buy a pair of Doc Martins - a trend I somehow missed.
And I turn on the oldies station where Lou Vega zips through Mambo No. 5 and I'm transported upstairs to the apartment I shared with my friend James where Lou crooned while I shimmied into a skin tight black skirt with slits up to my thighs. I hum along and then, with a jolt of almost panic realize, I'm listening to the oldies station.
The music of my childhood featured with Elvis was a tough pill to swallow.
Hearing the music of my single, carefree 20's following the Eagles?
I may need therapy.