The 1970s became a cherished theme during my college days. The thrill of rummaging through my closet to piece together bell-bottom jeans, platform shoes, and vibrant shirts—many of which were pilfered from my mother’s old wardrobe—was exhilarating. I completed the look with a voluminous Afro, my curly hair teased to perfection, and a fist pick as my accessory of choice.
Having been born in the ’70s, my fellow college students in the ’90s felt a unique attachment to that decade, even if our understanding stemmed from vintage photographs and reruns. Older colleagues often looked bewildered when we excitedly recounted our themed parties, unable to grasp why the ’70s were ripe for revival.
“How could they not get it?” I mused. They had lived through it! The allure of disco and boogie was undeniable.
Fast forward nearly two decades, and I stumbled upon a photo from my internship days in the late 1990s. My son’s babysitter, Emma, a college student in her early twenties, noticed it on the kitchen table.
“When was this taken?” she exclaimed.
“I think it was 1999.”
“I can totally tell by the clothes! I’m really into ‘90s fashion and shows right now, and this looks just like something from that time!”
I was taken aback. To me, the denim shirts and floral skirts felt current, not relics of the past. “Emma, when were you born?” I asked.
“1995.”
That year marked my senior year of high school.
Emma became my bridge to the contemporary college experience, an ambassador to a world I felt increasingly distant from. Over the coming months, I discovered that ’90s nostalgia had surged, leading to parties celebrating everything from grunge to classic sitcoms. This realization was a wake-up call: I had transformed into those older colleagues I once scoffed at, now surrounded by students born the same year I graduated.
I should have anticipated this evolution. In elementary school during the ’80s, we celebrated ’50s and ’60s days, and by high school, ’70s-themed events were the norm. We relished in the surprise reactions of older generations when we revealed our birth years.
“1977? That’s when I graduated high school!”
“1977? I was in line for Star Wars tickets back then!”
They seemed ancient to me—just like my parents.
A decade later, the ’70s felt outdated, and the ’80s made a comeback in my early adult life, complete with big hair and neon colors. I fondly reminisced about those years, yet I found myself unprepared for college students hosting parties that poked fun at the decade that shaped me from a self-conscious preteen to a confident young adult.
When I attended a local university’s ’90s throwback event, I wanted to fit in. I assembled an outfit from my past: an early ’90s flannel shirt, a late ’90s FUBU tee, and a floppy pink Blossom hat adorned with a large flower. Some students recognized the flannel, but the others were lost on them. I realized they were born between 1994 and 1998 and only viewed the ’90s through a narrow lens. Embarrassed, I tucked my cherished items back into the depths of my closet.
Later, I shared my frustrations with coworkers about how young these students were and their lack of knowledge about pivotal moments from the decade that defined my youth. They nodded, chuckling knowingly. “Just wait,” my 70-year-old coworker remarked. “It only gets worse.”
As time marches on, it’s a reminder that nostalgia is cyclical—what goes around comes around. The past may feel like a distant memory, but it will inevitably return, often in ways we least expect.
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In summary, the passage of time can be surprising, as perspectives shift and what was once familiar becomes nostalgic. Embracing these changes, while sometimes difficult, is essential as we navigate the evolving landscape of culture and generations.