Ah, the golden era of the 80s and 90s—when the best part of waking up wasn’t some artisanal brew named after a unicorn, but instead, a bowl of sugary cereal shaped like cartoon characters and a fistful of highly-processed, delightful, unbranded snack cakes. Back then, our biggest dilemma was whether to hit up Blockbuster for the latest VHS release or just stay in and binge-watch 'Full House' on TGI Friday nights. Who knew that our biggest strain in life would be deciding whether to call up our friends on a landline and risk tripping over the cord, or, God forbid, send a risky AOL Instant Message that could go awry faster than a game of Minesweeper?
It’s hard not to look back fondly on the days when our biggest concerns were avoiding the sinister clutches of a cranky neighbor snagging us on our BMX bikes or the IRS questioning how many “New Kids on the Block” cassette tapes we owned. We roamed outside until the sun went down, blissfully unaware of the wrist-slitting existential crises that awaited us in adulthood—like trying to figure out why no one told us that the “real world” meant getting a 9-to-5 where office chit-chat is about as thrilling as watching paint dry on a beige wall.
And remember when MTV was, you know, actually about music? A time when “TRL” wasn’t just a relic we mourned but a daily prayer session where we gathered in front of the TV, desperately hoping our favorite band would score the top spot, all while strategically timing our bathroom breaks so we didn’t miss that juicy 30-second clip from a Britney Spears video. Now, we couldn’t even find an actual music video if we were given an overstuffed VHS case and a treasure map. Apparently, “reality TV” has taken over, and we’re running far more risk of encountering over-tanned, charisma-vacuuming housewives than our favorite guitar-slinging rockers.
So, here we are, a generation that once thrived on cassette mixtapes and dodging disco strobe lights, now Netflixing through existential ennui and scrolling through social media like we’re trying to dodge the bullies at the playground. It’s enough to make you pour yourself a glass of Tang and reminisce about the days when your biggest tech crisis was getting the VHS tape stuck in the VCR. But regardless of our jaded outlook, there’s comfort in knowing that plaid shirts, platform sneakers, and the memory of hanging tiny plastic “Friends” figurines from the ceiling are just a nostalgic mixtape away. Here’s to earworms, awkward slow dances at school gyms, and the day we finally teach our kids that email isn’t the only way to communicate. After all, we’ve got to keep that glorious legacy of snark and sarcasm alive for future generations.