Monday, December 7, 2015

nostalgia overload - 80s people



I'm sitting here watching Murder She Wrote after Hart to Hart.
Scintillating.
80s people say to you, 'Come on in,'-  their hand on your shoulder, a concerned voice, it's late- 'I’ll make you a cup of coffee.'

There's something so utterly legitimate about them. Here I have followed and peiced together the entire day of an 80s person from watching them in the wild- that is, on re-runs.

Ahem:

The following is the whole of an 80s day.
Getting up in the morning and drinking coffee at your circular kitchen table, sunlight pouring through, some green leafed plants wavering there on a ledge nearby.
Although it is but 8:20 am, you are already dressed, a la Golden Girls, hair blow-dried, makeup plastered, mascara and powder and glossy lips, and blush, blush spread on your cheeks with a big pouffy brush.

 "Ready for breakfast, gang!"

 
"Is this bitch serious?"

"Forget her, we've been ready since 7:45!"


 
"Peasants."

Your outfit is well fitting pants and a belt and a sweater- could be angora, puff shouldered, beaded, rhinestones, could be oversized, could even be my favorite sweatshirt of Blanch Deveroux’s, red terry (on inside) with big gold zippers.
Earrings are a must, duh. 

If  it's a weekend, jeans (with no stretch) and sneakers- white leather and white socks. A button up or sweatshirt or both.


"La la laaa! How brisk!"

But if not a weekend, you are wearing some type of shoe that clacks along a floor when you’re walking.
You dash off to something,  umbrella if raining, and you’re kind of serious, but kind, and not at all slumpy or ironic. Your hair bounces and your little gold earrings shine. You’re like the cheery exchange students in modern day college pamphlet, come to think of it.
You’re like the parents in Poltergeist.
If you’re depressed, you’re just blue.
It’s like The Greatest Generation, but in the eighties.
Coffee in the morning, anyway. And the paper. You sit reading it, subdued, mascarad, nails did. Beige polyester in the air.
You have a hard day's work of answering big clunky plastic phones, 


"Hello?"

 

"Hello??"
typing, smoking in the office, 
 

having a drink at lunch, putting on your glasses to read what you’ve written, and then taking them off to say something serious to a co-worker (colleague, excuse me.)

You get home- by a swanky, sexy car if in a prime time tv show, on the subway if a gritty, realistic movie, and you have nuts in a cut glass bowl at your bar, near a fireplace, and not many windows, and the interior of this room is largely brown. You have whiskey – or sherry? What the hell IS sherry? in cut glass goblets.
Okay that's probably red wine.
 

 
Hail yes.

Meanwhile, here was pretty much the whole of my style goal back then:
 

Aaaaaanyway. Loving that pouffy haired, coffee and alcohol swilling world of eighties tv.


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