Ah, the good old days of the '80s and '90s, when a Saturday night meant blasting your cassette tapes, rocking out to Bon Jovi, and praying that your mom wouldn’t interrupt your “totally tubular” groove to tell you that dinner was ready. Yes, we lived in an age where the only thing that connected us was a landline telephone and a prayer that your parents wouldn't pick up the other line while you were breathing heavy into your crush's ear—because who had the courage to call up a crush directly? We were more likely to send them a carefully crafted note folded like a ninja star than risk actual rejection. “Will you go to the dance with me? Circle yes or no.” Because that was the pinnacle of communication, right there.
Today, everyone's out there swiping left and right like it's some kind of mad game of digital poker. Back in our day, you didn't hit someone up on Tinder; you had to construct a well-thought-out plan. This usually involved a good hour of soul-searching as to whether or not your would-be date would accept that carefully crafted invitation to the roller rink. Imagine the sheer horror if you dialed their number and ended up talking to their mom! We'd rather perform a double backflip over a skateboard ramp than face that reality. And heaven forbid you accidentally dial the wrong number—next thing you know, you’d be solving the mysteries of 555-2368 for half an hour with a confused stranger.
And let’s talk about those long, lingering phone calls where the biggest decision was whether to hang up first or quadruple-check on your choice of mixtape. Fast forward to now, where sending a “yo” via text can feel like a modern-day declaration of love. We didn’t need emojis; we had our one line of textual glory against an endless sea of notes stuck to our locker doors. "You're a total dork, but let’s make out by the bleachers" was the 90s equivalent of sending a heart emoji.
Sure, we may have been saturated with questionable fashion choices (thanks for the high-waisted jeans, Mom), and more than one encounter that involved too much Aqua Net, but at least we got to enjoy real-life awkwardness in its purest form. So here’s to the nostalgic blend of anxiety, excitement, and cringe that defined our youth—where the only notifications we cared about came from a boombox blasting out the latest hits, rather than a chime ringing in our pocket. Let’s face it: texting will never replace the raw thrill of pressing 7 four times to get to “S.” Thank you, Gen-X, for giving us the paradox of longing for simpler times while still cringing at our own past.