I Spent The Better Part Of A Decade Not Knowing Myself
If life actually was a highway, the proper route for history would have been to jump straight from December 1979 to January 1990. The road would have gone straight from classy flared jeans, gently flowing hippy hair and a sound-track of soft singing and dulcet tones straight into Nirvana and Soundgarden and the sweet sadness of the era of 90’s grunge.
But somewhere along that long straight road we took a left hand turn into a fun park – the weird and wonderful world of bright colours, sharp shapes, bold fashion, and big hair.
Hair metal, bangles, big tops, hip-hop, punk rock, and preppies.
Eddie Murphy’s leather suits.
Loud colour without taste, class or care and failed attempt followed by failed attempt at dressing as though looking good mattered at all.
Vivienne Westwood was using Keith Herring prints for god’s sake.
It was weird. Full weird.
It’s our precious part of history with a special mess and awkwardness – our cultural left-hand turn.
But sometimes the best things are the strangest things.
The loudest things.
The weirdest things.
The mad things and the bold things.
The things that don’t make sense.
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars”
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road