Retro is all over the scene these days. Recently, Jayne Denker got a second and third glance at the 80's reapproaching the fashion scene. If you have waited for the 80's look to come back then buckle your seat belts! However, if you are horrified that the 80's fashion bug might turn and rear its ugly head, you better start running for your lives... right about... now.

A Rude Awakening
by Jayne Denker

A funny thing happened to me on the way back from the airport today. No, this isn't the start of some leftover chestnut from Shecky Green's Vegas act; I truly had a strange, even unnerving, experience. I had just gone to the airport to pick up my husband, who had returned from a business trip. We were headed to a restaurant because, let's face it, I don't cook and I don't grocery shop. On the way to the restaurant, we halted our conversation in midstream to gawk at the same sight. I said, "Woah" and he said, "Nice" then we stared.

On the sidewalk was a guy sporting a foot-high Mohawk. I hadn't seen such a fine specimen since 1985, Camden Town, London. Of course, that one beat all comers hands down (including the one in front of us this afternoon) as it was dyed a lovely bumblebee yellow-and-black plaid to match the gentleman's scarf. However, this new Mohawk stood out for other reasons.

First of all, I really haven't seen a Mohawk in years. Who has? Who wants to? I mean, Mohawks and mullets weren't exactly our finest fashion contribution from the '80s, or a fine contribution for the annals of hair history from any era, come to think of it. Still, they were all ours, and we were proud of them at the time. As an ultimate act of rebellion, the Mohawk drew more attention than tattoos, ferrets, large snakes riding on folks' shoulders, or any other "look at me" cultural statements short of a safety pin through the nostril or cheek. Mohawks had to be bigger, stronger, higher, more colorful, and just plain weirder than the other guy's (or girl's).

They did cross gender barriers, too. Noone ever said, "You can't have a Mohawk. You're a girl!" If you had the hair, the gel, the hair spray, the SuperGlue, the already-highly-strained relationship with your parents, and the nerve to make such a statement of individuality then you too could develop a Mohawk that would put somebody's eye out.

This spectacle before me today was one of those Mohawks. However, that wasn't the only thing about this moment when time seemed to stand still making it unique. It was what I saw with my subsequent double, triple, and quadruple-takes. The first thing I saw was the Mohawk, yes, and my first reaction was surprise to realize that the hairdo was so rare these days as to command that much attention. Then I looked at him again. Once I got past the foot-high spikes, I looked at his clothes. He was wearing a black shirt with a tab collar buttoned all the way up, slightly baggy black pants, and black shoes. Over this he was wearing a slightly shiny hounds tooth blazer. A cold feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach as I started to get an inkling as to what was so disturbing about this person.

Looking again (we were stopped at a red light), he had rolled up the sleeves of the jacket to reveal approximately three inches of the black satin lining. Could it be? I looked yet again (it was a long red light), searching for something I knew I would find, yet dreading it, somehow. I was right. On the lapels: BUTTONS.

"No. No, say it isn't so!" I thought to myself. Not a Mohawk, tab collared shirt blazer with the sleeves rolled up, AND buttons on the lapel? Not on a man who was OBVIOUSLY BARELY INTO HIS TWENTIES. For the love of all that's good and holy, '80's fashion is once again a rebel statement? Yet, this time, it's rebellion by BEING RETRO.'

Yes, my thirtysomething friends, we have entered the Twilight Zone, where Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello surf the days away, where mod minidresses and go-go boots go to die, where disco still thumps and the dancers still sport the hides of thousands of wild polyesters that once roamed free across the oil fields of Texas. Our generation is now officially (say it with me and maybe it won't be so scary) NOSTALGIA.

~~~~~

Jayne Denker is a thirty something writer who will work on just about any writing assignment, anyplace, anytime as long as it's something nifty associated with pop culture--especially GenX, of course--and/or entertainment. She is actually employed full time as a web content manager but also fills any free time she may happen to find on her hands with freelance writing assignments to offset the "manager" nonsense. Jayne lives with her husband and three psycho kitties (qu'est que c'est) in quite a small lakeside cottage in western New York state. When she's not writing or "managing," she enjoys loafing/watching movies, cleaning up after the psycho kitties, designing web sites, reading, and making magic. Contact e-mail.

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