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Tag: 1980s

  • An Album for the Patrick Bateman Bros: Doja Cat Is An 80s Lady on Vie

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    After releasing the deliberately polarizing Scarlet in 2023 (followed by a reissue called Scarlet 2 Claude in 2024), Doja Cat seems to have done yet another swing back in the opposite direction. One that is aimed more toward the very genre she claimed she was running as far and fast away from as she could back in 2023, when she tweeted, “Planet Her and Hot Pink were cash-grabs and y’all fell for it.” Further describing the content on those records as “mediocre pop.” At the time, a great many fans were upset by the comment, while others insisted it was all somehow part of her Scarlet persona. And maybe it was, considering Doja would, as of this year, describe that album as a “massive fart” that just needed to be released. A way to express her anger and rage over a few things, including not being “taken seriously” as an artist. So it was that she explained in an interview with The New York Times, “Not to diminish it, but it was a bit of like, I just need to get this out—it was a massive fart for me. I thought fixing that would entail making music that was more visceral or more emotional or maybe more angry or more sad. And I enjoyed performing it onstage, but it didn’t get me all the way there. So I want to return back to what I know.”

    And return she has. Not just to the pure pop that Hot Pink and Planet Her embodied, but also even farther back than that, all the way to the 80s (though Doja herself was born in 1995). Because, sure, it’s been “a while” since someone wielded that shtick, with the most recent notable example being Dua Lipa’s 2020 album, Future Nostalgia, drenched in the same 80s-centric stylings on Vie, which marks Doja Cat’s fifth record in seven years (with 2018’s Amala being her debut). But Doja takes it more than just a few steps further than Lipa in terms of centering the album’s entire universe in the 80s. Because it’s not just a sound, it’s a world, with Doja committed to staying in character while inhabiting that world. This, of course, extends to her visual accompaniments—whether it’s the music videos she’s released thus far (see: “Jealous Type” and “Gorgeous”)—or the album variants that feature her on the cover in various 80s getups (particularly the Quality Time vinyl edition). All of this proving the accuracy of what she told Michelle Miller of CBS Sunday Morning: “I’m always wanting to, like, create a character, like, create some sort of narrative and theme and world. World-building.”

    To establish that world immediately on Vie, Doja begins with “Cards,” which, for about the first fifteen seconds, sounds like it could be something from a Blood Orange album (it’s the saxophone). But then, with its production from Y2K, Gavin Bennett and Jack Antonoff (who worked on nine of the fifteen tracks, and who makes music that usually sounds 80s-esque anyway), the song bursts forth in some very Janet Jackson circa Control type of glory. This as Doja opens with the chorus, “A little more back and forth/A little more catch and throw, baby/The more we can clear this smoke/A little further I’ll go/Maybe in time, we’ll know/Maybe I’ll fall in love, baby/Maybe we’ll win some hearts/Gotta just play your cards.” The up-tempo pace of the track instantly establishes the exuberant tone that Doja is going for, in addition to ruminating on her love of romance—intermixed with sex, of course. This intoxicating combination evident in the lines, “If you play fair, stranger/It’s all you could eat while I lay there, stranger” (that word, stranger, also being the title of track six on Vie). At the same time, Doja exhibits the shyness of a girl looking for true love when she says, “I’m enough to wait for/Move too quick and you off the roster.”

    As the saxophone plays us out of “Cards,” Doja’s warning fittingly transitions into “Jealous Type.” For it’s apparent that once she (or her “character”) does open her heart to someone, she’s not liable to let them “muck about” with others so readily. Once again starting the song with the chorus (which will be a common occurrence on Vie), Doja soon asks the question, “Could be torn between two roads that I just can’t decide/Which one is leading me to hell or paradise?” This meaning that Doja can’t quite decide between remaining “dulcet” or going full AK-47 in terms of expressing her feelings of jealousy. Something she does manage to convey regardless in the second verse, rapping, “And if she really was a friend like you said she was/I would’ve been locked in, but I called your bluff/No girl enjoys trying to tough it out for a party boy/Everyone wants you and you love all the noise.” In a sense, it’s almost like she’s channeling Evelyn Richards in American Psycho (whose name is changed to Evelyn Williams [played by Reese Witherspoon] in the film version), who has some similar sentiments toward Patrick Bateman.

    And yes, needless to say, this is probably exactly the type of album that, had it actually been released in the 1980s, Bateman would have been sure to pontificate about in one of the chapters. Granted, Bateman couldn’t cover every piece of 80s pop culture, including Knight Rider, which is not one of the things he finds worthy of mentioning at any point in American Psycho. Doja Cat, however, seems to figure that, since Vie is an “80s album,” the Knight Rider theme is a natural fit for “AAAHH MEN!,” even though Busta Rhymes already locked down that sample in 1997 with “Turn It Up (Remix)/Fire It Up.” What’s more, it seems that Antonoff enjoys working on tracks wherein female singers make a play on words using “men” and “amen” (hear also: “Manchild”).

    Of course, Doja has more of a legitimate reason to wield the Knight Rider theme than Busta in that she raps, “And if had more common sense/Then I would grab my ride and dip.” She also adds to that sentiment, “And I have too much tolerance/You ugly and fine as shit.” That latter dichotomous line referring to how a man can be aesthetically foyn, but still repulsive “on the inside,” thanks to his “personality” (or lack thereof). Even so, Doja seems always willing to take a chance on romance. Even with the knowledge that romance so often gives way to reality, ergo a loss of the rose-colored glasses that can then lead to so much tension and fighting. Thus, a need for “Couples Therapy,” which happens to be track four on Vie.

    It’s this sweeping, lush song that particularly conjures Doja telling Jimmy Fallon, “I’m very inspired by Janet. I’m very inspired by Michael and Prince.” And yet, there’s even brief auditory glimpses of Aaliyah (specifically, “Rock the Boat”) as Doja narrates the problems of some other couple, rather than speaking about herself or her own relationship. This bringing to mind the distinction of her writing process that she made to Miller on CBS Sunday Morning, noting, “When I’m writing, I’m writing about situations in general. I’m not really, um, always pulling from my personal life” and “I love to talk about love. I love to talk about, um, you know, relationships and dynamics and things like that.” Carrie Bradshaw would tend to agree.

    Interestingly, “Couples Therapy” starts out with Doja talking about a relationship from the third person perspective before switching to the first: “She just wants him to be involved/He just wants her to finally notice/They just need one more push to cope/Can we both detangle our souls?/This argument’s been in the oven/We can’t always be in control.” This, in fact, channels Madonna’s 1989 “divorce track” from Like A Prayer, “Till Death Do Us Part,” on which she sings with the same perspective shift, “Our luck is running out of time/You’re not in love with me anymore/I wish that it would change but it won’t/‘Cause you don’t love me no more/He takes a drink, she goes inside/He starts to scream, the vases fly/He wishes that she wouldn’t cry/He’s not in love with her anymore.” Yes, maybe Madonna and Sean just needed couples therapy—though it wasn’t as “chic” in the 80s to seek that kind of help. Just ask The Roses.

    But, at least after becoming newly divorced and/or single again, a person can feel like their former “Gorgeous” self. This being the second single from Vie after “Jealous Type.” And yes, with this particular track, Doja is sure to cover a different kind of romance: the kind that somebody has with themselves a.k.a. self-love. So it is that Doja remarked of “Gorgeous”: “[It’s] not about being in a relationship with someone else, it’s about how you relate to yourself and how you feel about yourself. And that was something that I really wanted to kind of convey in this song.” Which she definitely does (“I mean I only got myself to appeal to [I do]),” along with the feeling that this should be playing during one of Gia Carangi’s photoshoots (the lyric, “She wanna be chic when it’s inspired by heroin” being especially resonant). Or during one of Bateman’s murder sprees. Either way, it’s among the most 80s songs of Vie, which really means something (this along with the fact that Charli XCX’s newly-minted husband, George Daniel, is one of the co-writers and co-producers). In fact, it’s almost like Doja took a page out of The Weeknd’s playbook for this entire record, for he’s been dipping into that 80s sound well for a while, especially since 2020’s After Hours.

    And it would track that Doja could have been inspired as much by The Weeknd as any pop artist from “back in the day,” for she’s no “Stranger” to collaborating with him, having done so on a remix of his 2020 song “In Your Eyes” and in 2021 for “You Right” from Planet Her. Who knows, maybe she even has him partially in mind when she opens “Stranger” with, “We could be strange/At least we’re not the same.” Later, she’ll add, “And I believe the weirdest ones survive.” This echoes one of Madonna’s recent aphorisms on Jay Shetty’s On Purpose podcast, during which she declared, “Not fitting in is what saves you.” Granted, Doja speaks on some pretty normie couple behavior when she says, “Call me over to watch some White Lotus.” This perhaps serving to remind listeners that she did make a song with one of season three’s cast members, LISA—namely, “Born Again,” which also features RAYE. Not to mention her fairly basique nod to Kill Bill for the “Stranger” video. But, in any case, it’s a sweet song, and one that relishes the joys of finding one’s fellow “weirdo” in life.

    With that in mind, Doja seems only too pleased to make her fellow weirdo “All Mine” on the following track, which features a prominent nod to Grace Jones, both in sound, tone and, well, the opening sample of dialogue. Dialogue that comes from Conan the Destroyer, with Princess Jehnna (Olivia d’Abo) asking Zula (Jones), “How do you attract a man? What I mean is, suppose you set your heart on somebody. What would you do to get him?” to which Zula instantly replies, with the same “savagery” as a man, “Grab him, and take him.” Or what a certain Orange Creature, especially during his 80s heyday, would rephrase as “grab ‘em by the dick.” That Conan the Destroyer was released in 1984 only intensifies Doja’s commitment to the “world building” of Vie, which exists solely in the 80s (complete with her public appearances in promotion of the album, during which she’s dressed in attire befitting said era). Save, of course, for the lyrical content itself.

    In the spirit of Zula’s advisement, Doja croons in tune with the mid-tempo track, “I ain’t waiting around, yeah/I’ll be taking him out, yeah/‘Cause I’m only about him/Wanting what we want/Claiming what we claim/Make you say my name/And I’m all yours/It can’t bе my fault/This street goes both ways/Let a giver takе/You’re all mine, boy.” In this sense, Doja channels a time when women were only really just coming into their own as independent people capable not only of being seen as a man’s “equal” (which really isn’t hard to do considering how subpar most men are), but being able to “claim” in the same way—or so one would have liked to believe—without incurring as much judgment as they would have in the past. And in the 80s, it was not so “past” at all, considering the fact that most women couldn’t even open their own bank accounts in the U.S. until the passage of the Equal Credit Opportunity Act of 1974. Considering that Doja is very much the type of woman who needs to have her own bag, the 80s are probably about as far back in time as she would be willing to go (not to mention the fact that a Black woman further back than the 80s didn’t have much in the way of rights either).

    To be sure, it wouldn’t have been half as easy for a woman to simply command, “Take Me Dancing,” as both Doja and SZA do on the song of the same name. Teaming up yet again after the stratospheric success of “Kiss Me More” (which even broke Brandy and Monica’s “The Boy Is Mine” record for the “longest-running all-female Top 10 hit on the Billboard Hot 100”), SZA commences the track with the repetition of the demand, “Baby, take me dancing tonight.”

    Once she makes her desires known, Doja then comes in with the chorus, “You’re so raw, boy, and you’re so romantic/When you fuck me right and then you take me dancing/It gets lonely out here in this big old mansion/In these hills cooped up, boy, can you take me dancing?” Clearly speaking from the perspective of someone who lives in L.A. (with Doja herself being a native), it’s almost as if Doja is intending to channel Norma Desmond if she were living in the 80s instead of the 50s.

    While not as lyrically varied as “Kiss Me More,” “Take Me Dancing” is just as “boppable,” and surely worthy of a music video that finds Doja and SZA hitting the clubs of Los Angeles through an 80s lens (which must surely be less derivative than the very Britney concept they “came up with” for the “Kiss Me More” video). Maybe even one with a Maxxxine-inspired slant.

    On “Lipstain,” Doja actually says she doesn’t wanna dance. Well, that is, metaphorically speaking, beginning the song with the declaration, “I don’t wanna dance around it/Talkin’ ‘bout our love is easy.” So easy that it even makes her “speak in tongues”—a.k.a. French (e.g., “Tu es ma vie et mon tout/Et tout le monde le sait” and “Laisse-moi embrasser ton cou”). And why shouldn’t she? Considering that Vie is named in honor of the French word for “life,” of which Doja remarked to CBS Sunday Morning, “That means life and I feel like you can’t have life without love.” “Vie” not only means “life” in French, as in, “tu es ma vie,” but it also derives from the Roman numeral V, and Doja wanting to reference this being her fifth record. One that shows a side of her that perhaps wasn’t as noticeable before. The romantic side (after all, that doesn’t come across in such previous lyrics as, “If she ain’t got a butt/Nah, fuck it, get into it, yuh”). Which is why Doja was prompted to explain of the consistent theme, “This album is very much about love in a way that reflects how I want it to be in the future—my hope, my hopefulness. What I hope it could be. Because I remember there was a time when people were talking about wanting to be with each other, and it seems to have gotten a bit more vapid and just sort of like, not real… Not loving, not romantic.”

    But it is “romantic,” in its retro way, to want to “mark your man” (as Peggy Olson would call it) with a bit of lipstick on his collar…and elsewhere. Or, as Doja calls it, a “lipstain.” This said when she sings, “Kiss you on the neck on purpose/So they know my favorite lipstain.” The “they” being other women that might try to “holla.” A fear that prompts Doja to note, “We gotta mark our territory for them dogs, girl.” That’s certainly how Britney felt on “Perfume” when she used the eponymous beauty product to talk about marking her own territory via the lyrics, “And while I wait, I put on my perfume/Yeah, I want it all over you/I’m gonna mark my territory.” For Doja, though, lipstick will suffice.

    And, talking of Britney, Doja very much gives off 00s-era Britney energy on the lyrics for “Silly! Fun!” (a song that matches the playful exclamations in its title) when she sings (while oozing pure exuberance), “Wouldn’t it be fun if we went to a party?/Wouldn’t it be fun to fall deep for somebody?/I know it could be a blast to just pop out a baby/And we’re so very silly getting married in Vegas.” Spears did all of those things and then some in the 00s, but Doja wants to “make it 80s” with her musical spin on such a narrative (one that she calls her homage to lovebombing). And yes, “Silly! Fun!” definitely offers the kind of jubilance-inducement one would expect of such a title, practically begging its listeners to snort cocaine to this soundtrack. It also echoes the theme of “Stranger,” reiterating the idea that Doja has found someone to match her freak, so to speak (and to quote a Tinashe song rather than a Doja one)—and that she’s all the better/happier for it. As made further apparent when she gushes, “You’re my person, this my first time, I’m in love/Those men were practice in my past.”

    On “Acts of Service,” this talk of finding “my person” continues immediately, with Doja asking the question, “Would it mean that I found my person/When the language is acts of service?” The “language” she’s referring to obviously being “love language,” of which there are five categories: acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, gifts and physical touch (all five have Vie vinyl variants named in their honor). And so, if Doja can find that “special someone” who speaks her language, in addition to embodying some of the other ones, then, “Please, this is an achievement.”

    The slow tempo and “boudoir-ready” sound, co-produced by Fallen, Stavros and Kurtis McKenzie, is yet another example of the Janet Jackson inspiration on the album. Though, of course, the rapped portions of the song are all strictly Doja, especially when she says, “Yeah, said I/I just deleted Raya/That must mean that I’m your provider/That just mean I’ma be your rider.” Something about this verse feeling like a nod to the Joseph Quinn drama that happened earlier this year, with some outlets reporting that Quinn was “caught” on the dating app for “posh” people (a.k.a. celebrities [or even just “influencers”]) while still “with” Doja (much like David Harbour when he was married to Lily Allen). Either way, it’s a pointed remark. Perhaps the kind that would later prompt Doja to “Make It Up” to her love with an apology. This song having the kind of sound that makes one think of Prince taking a bubble bath (or maybe even think of Vivian Ward [Julia Roberts] taking a bubble bath while listening to Prince).

    To that point, Doja asks her lover in the second verse, “Can I run your shower?/Can I fill the tub?” So it is that Doja obviously wants to keep the acts of service love language going. And, in a certain sense, “Make It Up” also has shades (no pun intended) of Ariana Grande’s “make up,” a song from thank u, next about, what else, make up sex as Grande urges, “And I love it when we make up/Go ‘head, ruin my makeup” (so yeah, it’s sort of like 50 Cent rhyming “nympho” with “nympho”). In a similar fashion, complete with using the repetition of the same word, Doja sings, “If we make love/Would I make it up to you?” In other words, would it make this person, er, come around “One More Time.”

    While Daft Punk might already have a signature song called this, Doja throws her own hat into the “One More Time” ring. Even though she, too, mostly just repeats that phrase for the chorus. Even so, the song explores the struggle of being vulnerable, especially as it pertains to allowing oneself to fall in love. Awash in the sound of “80s electric guitar,” Doja remarks, “It’s never easy/We’re willingly uncomfortable/I want you to teach me/We’re both feeling unlovable/We gotta learn to unlearn it/It’s gotta hurt if we’re burning/When we get closer, I curse it/Breaking the cycle, I know I deserve it.” In other words, she deserves to be “Happy.”

    The Marvin Gaye-esque opening of said song, the penultimate track on Vie, inevitably leads to Doja speaking more rudimentary French (as she did on “Lipstain”), incorporating the repetition of the command, “Brise/Mon coeur/Encore/Ce soir” (meaning, “Break/My heart/Again/Tonight”), in between asking, “Are you happy?/Who would get mad at you/Doing what you wanna do?” A query that sounds, in its way, like MARINA asking, “Are you satisfied/With an average life?” (on a side note: MARINA also has a song called “Happy” on Froot). But the answer to that question is, patently, Doja, who expresses being plenty mad when she says, “TLC, I saw, I creeped/She’s in our bed, I bought the sheets.” This pop culture reference not being 80s at all, but peak 90s. Alas, Doja can’t keep it entirely “of the time” she’s emulating, putting her own contemporary spin on the lyrics while borrowing mostly from the sound of the Decade of Excess. Which she, like many others, wants to “Come Back.”

    For this grand finale, Doja selected Antonoff as the sole producer of the song (the only other one on Vie that he produced on his own being “AAAHH Men!”). And for this big responsibility, Antonoff seemed to riff off Doja’s tone of voice to fully exude an all-out Wilson Phillips sound. To be sure, “Come Back” has a very inspirational sound in the spirit of said band (particularly their best-known hit, “Hold On”). But just because it sounds that way doesn’t mean Doja is saying things intended in that spirit. For when she sings the chorus, “Changin’ the way that you act to me/Can’t switch the tone while I’m ‘bout to leave/I worked it down till the atrophy/You missed the mark and her majesty/Beggin’ me, ‘Baby, come back to me,’” it’s evident that Doja has reached her threshold on giving love—or at least this particular love—a chance.

    In this regard, “Come Back” is like Doja’s version of “Goodbye”—the Sabrina Carpenter track that concludes Man’s Best Friend (and yes, Antonoff co-wrote and co-produced that song, too). For, like Carpenter, Doja is sending a big kiss-off message to the person who thought that she would always be around/come running at the drop of hat. In both songs, each woman emphasizes that this man’s sudden desire to “come back” to the relationship and (potentially) “be better” is a classic case of too little, too late. Which is exactly why Doja pronounces, “It turned you on when I told you off/I’m pleased I ain’t the bitch you was hopin’ for/If we keep this up, and you hold my doors/And you take my bag, and you hold me more/I don’t think that would make up for the hope I lost.”

    Much like the collective hope that was lost during the Decade of Excess itself, with Ronald Reagan ramping up the concept of neoliberalism (with his counterpart, Margaret Thatcher, also doing the same “across the pond”) through Reaganomics. A so-called philosophy/set of policies that served only to further dash the dreams and livelihood of the average American. Turning the U.S. into an even greater cultural wasteland that wouldn’t deign to fund the arts in general, let alone music education. Even so, compared to now, there’s no denying the 80s had a lot more luster. A far greater sense of hope and aspiration.

    To boot, in the spirit of songs from “that time,” Doja even dares to challenge her usual audience by making tracks that last well over three minutes in most cases. Which is a tall ask of a generation that’s grown accustomed to mostly only having the focus for a song that’s about two minutes, if that. So perhaps her goal really is to fully transport listeners back to that time, and remind them that while time travel might not be possible (as was “promised” in Back to the Future), the “DeLorean” that people will have to settle for in 2025 is Vie.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Advertising, 80s Style: Look “Gorgeous” With Doja Cat-Endorsed Makeup

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    It shouldn’t come as any surprise that Doja Cat’s “Gorgeous” far outshines Taylor Swift’s on the “serving cunt” front (especially since, as anyone with taste knows, Taylor has never actually “ate”). As such, an equally as cunty music video needed to be made as a worthy companion to the song itself. Enter director Bardia Zeinali, who keeps elevating his career one music video at a time (having just directed yet another for Sabrina Carpenter [following “Please Please Please”]—namely, her second single from Man’s Best Friend, “Tears”). “Gorgeous” is now amongst those elevations, with Zeinali tapping into some quintessential postmodern aesthetics for the very “80s makeup commercial”-inspired video (to the point where it’s very much the kind of thing that even Patrick Bateman could jack off to, whether literally or metaphorically).

    Initially starting with a slowly spinning shot of Doja Cat in an ultra-tailored bright pink skirt suit, accessorized with a black pillbox hat, sheer black stockings and black “fuck me pumps” while bent over as she touches her ankle, the slow burn musical introduction gives way to Doja singing the first part of the chorus, “If they wasn’t grillin’ before/They gon’ be really mad when we hit the floor/It’s a crime to be gorgeous.” This said after a black title card introduces the “brand” that is Gorgeous throughout this video. And yes, Doja and Zeinali nail the look and feel of these bygone types of commercials that so breezily conveyed an aspirational way of being. And did so in a far more glamorous manner than what Gen Z is exposed to via “influencers” on TikTok. Doja herself is technically a millennial (born in ‘95), or zillennial, if you must, so perhaps she feels inherently closer to this era when product shilling wasn’t so lusterless.

    And for those who can’t remember and/or were never exposed to such forms of advertising, Doja seems intent on making everyone well-aware of what it was like back in the “glory days” of hawking wares to the public. So it is that she holds an elegant tube of lip gloss like she’s genuinely been paid to promote it while confidently singing, “Between you and a million phones/They takin’ pictures like we hittin’ a pose/It’s alright to be honest/Even when we sit in the dark/I feel the prettiest that you ever saw/Are your eyes even open?/It ain’t ever really our fault/We make a killing being so beautiful/It’s a crime to be gorgeous.”

    Although the sound and visual for the song is fiercely 80s, the theme itself is more current than ever, with Doja addressing the ways in which comparison, particularly through the lens of social media, is the ultimate source of drawing haters and envy. This, in essence, making the art of “being hot” a crime. With the punishment often resulting in the kind of microscopic scrutiny that leads a person to get unnecessary cosmetic surgery thanks to the advent of the body dysmorphia-inducing comments section—even though those who were criticizing their looks were mostly just jealous of them. So it is that Doja also sings at one point in “Gorgeous,” “Then I got surgery ‘cause of scrutiny.” With two of her known cosmetic surgery procedures being liposuction and a breast reduction.

    Whatever she “had done,” she still seems to be radiating a natural glow while promoting the Gorgeous lip gloss collection, which features the tagline, “All we need, all we want” (a bit lazy on the copywriting front, but oh well). It’s after this point that the video/commercial starts to transition into a very 90s-esque vibe in that, all at once, a slew of some of today’s most recognizable faces in modeling appear to also look overjoyed about using this fake product. And some of those “main girls” include none other than Alex Consani, Anok Yai, Ugbad Abdi, Irina Shayk and Yseult. All in addition to Doja Cat’s own mother, Elizabeth Sawyer, who not only appears next to Doja at one point looking just as “Glamour Shot-y,” but also provides the interlude portion of the track via her recorded words of encouragement, “Babe, I just called to tell you how much I love you and how amazingly beautiful that you are. Oh my god, how uplifting and inspiring you’ve been to me for all this time. And I love you and no one even has fine hair or is smarter.” That comment on Doja’s “fine hair” being an ideal segue from the perfume ad portion of the video (that perfume being called “Gorg”) into what comes next, with the Gorgeous line also offering up hair care products (including dye), as though Doja wants to not so subtly remind people that beauty is a big business with many-pronged tentacles. An industry that continues to prey on “aspirationalism” to this day. Even though that’s more of a euphemism for “insecurity” than anything else.

    To boot, there are moments when the “Gorgeous” video, not to mention the song’s lyrical content, feels like a riff on Kelly LeBrock’s own 80s commercials for Pantene, during which she famously “pleaded,” “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” In other words, it shouldn’t be a crime to be gorgeous (especially if anyone can buy the so-called necessary products to be so—as celebrity endorsements and self-started brands would try to have consumers believe). But, soon enough, the focus shifts from hair to eyeshadow, with Doja posing in front of the array of product lines before, around the two-minute-fifty-five-second mark, the color shifts to black and white for the proverbial “BTS scenes” of Doja primping in the mirror. Except, once again, this infuses the video with more of a 90s-era vibe before returning anew to the unmistakable 80s-ness of the scenes that came before it.

    In this sense, it’s apparent that Doja and Zeinali chose to combine the best elements of advertising from both decades (with the 90s being much more all about wielding “supermodels” to generate sales/interest in a beauty product). Though, obviously, the 80s reign supreme in all things related to the Vie universe. And the “Gorgeous” video certainly cements that—in addition to the fact that advertising just ain’t what it used to be.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Video killed the radio hits: Woefully memorable ’80s videos

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    Audio By Carbonatix

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    Serene Dominic

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  • Trump Brings Back the Worst of the 80s

    Trump Brings Back the Worst of the 80s

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    Although some could argue that Ronald Reagan’s oppressive regime in the 1980s is part of what fueled better pop culture than the schlock of the moment, one thing that could never be improved was Donald Trump. A man who did become part of the pop cultural lexicon of that era despite being a New York-confined Patrick Bateman type. For whatever reason (apart from The Art of the Deal), he managed to infiltrate the mainstream consciousness—more than likely because, in those days, it was the height of “aspirational” to be rich. Not that it still isn’t, it’s just more “cloaked” behind “earnest,” “let’s save the planet” messaging.

    Trump, obviously, never gave a fuck about that. And still doesn’t. Nor did he ever care about reading, though he did feign being very taken with the “excellent” Tom Wolfe during both men’s heyday. “Excellent” was the word he used to describe the quintessential 80s author in a 1987 interview with Pat Buchanan and Tom Braden when asked what books he was reading. But, of course, 1) he wasn’t actually reading any and 2) Trump couldn’t resist the urge to ultimately say, “I’m reading my own book because I think it’s so fantastic, Tom.” That book was the blatantly ghostwritten The Art of the Deal, released, incidentally, in the month that followed The Bonfire of the Vanities landing on bookshelves everywhere. Indeed, that was the main reason Trump was on the show.

    Oddly, Trump’s book (an oxymoron, to be sure) was the thing that made him become a household name in America, as opposed to just being limited to the niche jurisdiction of New York City and certain parts of New Jersey. As for his abovementioned interview, some have speculated that Bret Easton Ellis used this bizarre moment for Bateman/American Psycho inspiration. For it does smack of Bateman saying whatever the fuck comes to his mind just to see if anyone’s actually paying attention (e.g., saying he’s into “murders and executions mostly” instead of “mergers and acquisitions”). A moment where, in one instant Trump is declaring he’s well-versed in all literature Wolfe but hasn’t yet read The Bonfire of the Vanities, and, in the next, claiming to be reading Wolfe’s “last book.” Which would have been, what else, The Bonfire of the Vanities. He certainly wasn’t talking about From Bauhaus to Our House. And yet, even when caught in a lie, Trump always counted on touting generalities with confidence as a means to deflect from his total lack of knowledgeability.

    So it is that he keeps repeating such generalities as, “He’s a great author, he’s done a beautiful job” and “The man has done a very, very good job.” Finally, realizing that there might be some people out there not falling for his bullshit, he relies on the excuse, “I really can’t hear with this earphone by the way.” (Or, as Mariah would put it, “I can’t read suddenly.”) Trump, in this and so many other ways, has brought back the “art” of the flagrant lie-con that was popularized by some of the 80s’ most notorious swindlers, like David Bloom and Jim Bakker. Everyone wanting to adhere to the “fake it till you make it” philosophy so beloved by the U.S., and which it was essentially founded upon. A “philosophy” that Trump has taken “to heart” his entire life. Except for the fact that, as Tony Schwartz, the true writer of The Art of the Deal, eventually said, Trump doesn’t actually have a heart. More specifically, “Trump is not only willing to lie, but he doesn’t get bothered by it, doesn’t feel guilty about it, isn’t preoccupied by it. There’s an emptiness inside Trump. There’s an absence of a soul. There’s an absence of a heart.”

    And it can be argued that this absence began to extend to the collective of America in a more noticeable way than ever during the Decade of Excess. Uncoincidentally, it was the decade when neoliberalism came back into fashion in a manner as never seen before, courtesy of the “laissez-faire” policies of Reagan and, in the UK, Margaret Thatcher. With such an emphasis on “me first” and “getting ahead at any cost,” it was no wonder that a man like Trump, emblematic of the Wall Street monstrosity that would come to be embodied by Gordon Gekko, was so “revered.” His “lifestyle” coveted. Of course, it was harder then to debunk myths, like the idea that anything about Trump was “self-made.”

    In the backdrop (or foreground, depending on who you ask) of Trump and Reagan representing the worst of the 80s, there were, needless to say, so many amazing things about that decade: the birth of MTV, and with it, a new generation of visual artists (including the 1958 Trinity, Madonna Prince and Michael Jackson), Square Pegs, Golden Girls, Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, They Live, E.T., Dirty Dancing, Flashdance, Footloose (a whole rash of dancing movies, really), any John Hughes movie, the eradication of smallpox, the aerobics craze and Jane Fonda’s Workout, Pac-Man (and the rise of video games in general, culminating in the release of Game Boy in 1989), the early days of the internet and personal computers, the first female vice presidential candidate (Geraldine Ferraro), the fall of the Berlin Wall… So many great, memorable things that should outshine the ickier moments today—like the rampant homophobia in response to AIDS, the Challenger explosion, Irangate, the Chernobyl disaster, New Coke, the rise of the yuppie, the death of vinyl (though it would have the last laugh) and George H.W. Bush managing to win the 1988 election so as to take more “Reaganomics” policies into the 90s.

    And now, Trump wants to bring all the worst of the decade back. The homophobia, the religious overtones (complete with satanic panic), rampant misogyny, the worship of money, the rollback of environmental regulations and, maybe most affronting of all, Hulk Hogan. The latter, like Trump, experienced his own heyday in the 80s, when interest in pro wrestling and the WWE reached an all-time crescendo. And, also like Trump, Hogan has a reputation for, let’s say, embellishing (read: fabricating) his lore. Because he found his success by being an over-the-top wrestler, Hogan never seemed inclined to shed his performative persona. As a result, many will remain forever haunted by Hogan at the RNC a.k.a. Trump rally ripping his shirt off to reveal a Trump/Vance tank top as he screamed, “Let Trumpamania [unclear why he wouldn’t just say ‘Trump Mania,’ but anyway] run wild brother! Let Trumpamania rule again!”

    As many pointed out, it was like seeing the plot of Idiocracy fully realized. A trajectory that can now be rightfully pinned on the “ideals” of the 80s. For while it was the best of times, it was also the worst of times—and those are coming back with a vengeance if Trump manages to win the presidency yet again. On the plus side though, it seems that CDs are making a comeback to align with this potential return to the Decade of Greed.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • What’s In A Belittling Nickname? Andrew McCarthy’s Brats Seeks to Find Out

    What’s In A Belittling Nickname? Andrew McCarthy’s Brats Seeks to Find Out

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    Oddly (or fortuitously) enough, Brats comes out at a time when the commentary surrounding both brats and rats has become very favorable. The former because of Charli XCX and the latter because of the “hot rodent boyfriend” trend. Each example giving a strong indication of how far pop culture has moved away from anything resembling the monoculture of the 1980s. And nothing was more monoculture-oriented in the teen world than the Brat Pack. Depending on who you ask, some will say the group was born out of The Breakfast Club. Others, St. Elmo’s Fire. Others still might argue it could have originated with Taps, starring Timothy Hutton, Tom Cruise and Sean Penn. In fact, Brat Packer/Brats filmmaker Andrew McCarthy calls Hutton (who also appears in the doc) the “godfather” of all the Brat Packers as he was the first young person to star in a movie that actually took young people seriously at the beginning of the 80s, specifically for his role as Conrad Jarrett in 1980’s Ordinary People. But the specific who and when of the group’s precise genesis isn’t as relevant as the June 1985 article that decided to corral all of them together into one blob and brand them with the name that would define them and their movies forever. 

    The consequences and aftermath of that branding is the subject McCarthy wishes to explore in his documentary, a companion piece to his 2021 autobiography, Brat: An 80s Story. And if titling his book as such didn’t give the indication he’s doing his best to reappropriate the name, then surely titling his movie Brats will drive the point home: he’s ready to take back the narrative. One created by a little-known (and still little-known) journalist/writer named David Blum. In a sense, it’s arguable that Blum was among the first writers to take offense over nepo babies having everything handed to them. Of their galling sense of privilege under the guise of having “earned their place” despite having an automatic leg up. After all, the piece was originally just supposed to be about Martin Sheen’s boy, Emilio Estevez. And yes, Nicolas Cage, Coppola progeny extraordinaire, is also called out in the article, which features the subtitle: “They’re Rob, Emilio, Sean, Tom, Judd and the rest—the young movie stars you can’t quite keep straight. But they’re already rich and famous. They’re what kids want to see and what kids want to be.”

    That condescending summation being a precursor to the idea that fame for fame’s sake (or at least the sake of partying like a VIP) was the thing to aspire to (in which case, the message has been received beyond anyone’s wildest imagination). Because it was true, with a single two-word phrase, Blum had effectively diminished these “young people’s” work to something totally unserious. And solely because they were young. It’s the oldest trick in the book: discredit or minimize someone’s talent or opinions because of their youth. (Granted, in the present, the youth is paying back “olds” with a vengeance by discrediting or minimizing anyone over twenty-five.) 

    Accordingly, Blum does come across as a curmudgeonly boomer begrudging youthful Gen Xers (and, in McCarthy’s case, Gen X-cusping—while actors like Nelson, Penn and Hutton are all actually classifiable as being in the baby boomer category) their moment in the spotlight. Though, incidentally, Blum was twenty-nine when he wrote the article and McCarthy was twenty-two. So not that vast of an age difference. And yet, even more than speaking to a matter of age discrepancy in terms of “reasons why” Blum came at them, it was a matter of class discrepancy. For it’s so obvious in the article—and now—that Blum is filled with contempt for ilk of this nature. You know, rich, hot people who seem to have no problems apart from which free, swag-filled event to slip into. And in this sense, one can’t help but side with him, for who among us ordinary mortals hasn’t been prone to such flare-ups of rage and jealousy when it comes to witnessing privilege in motion and wondering why we shouldn’t have it instead (or, in a more ideal world, in addition to)?

    Yet on the other, it’s not hard to sympathize with a Brat Pack “charter member” like Andrew McCarthy, clearly so shaken up by the unwanted “rebranding” of who he was all these years later. While some might deem this as a product of “snowflakeism” being chic, even among those who aren’t millennials and Gen Zers, it’s true what McCarthy says in the documentary: “Things that happen to us when we’re young, they’re really intense and they go deep. You know, had the same thing, Brat Pack, if the Brat Pack happened when we were forty, we would have gone like, ‘Whatever dude.’ You know, because you’re young, you just take it so personally because you’re not sure of yourself yet and so I think that article tapped into doubts and fears that we had about ourselves. ‘My God, are we maybe really undeserving of this?’”

    This fear, to a more legitimate extent, seems to be the exact reason so many nepo babies, finally forced to reconcile with their privilege (though not really), had a strong reaction to the New York Magazine (the same place where “Hollywood’s Brat Pack” was published in 1985) cover story published for the December 19, 2022–January 1, 2023 issue. Titled “Aww, look! She has her mother’s eyes. And agent. Extremely overanalyzing Hollywood’s nepo-baby boom,” the article by Nate Jones solidified the derogatory term (originally tweeted by Meriem Derradji as “nepotism baby” in reference to Maude Apatow in February of 2022) as an ultimate takedown. Because only does everyone want to believe there’s a secret “easy way” that success is achieved (true, being born into the right family helps), they want to believe that not achieving it is through no fault of their own. They just didn’t get popped out of the right vagina. And now, the “poor” nepo babies have to go around living with the Scarlet “NB” forever, put in a place to constantly question whether they’re talented or just, to use a Buellerism, born under a “good” sign.

    At the time of the fever pitch over the term, certain nepo babies who wouldn’t otherwise have acknowledged their privilege came out of the woodwork to weigh in. This included Lily Allen, daughter of the increasingly lesser known Keith Allen. Her take? “The nepo babies y’all should be worrying about are the ones working for legal firms, the ones working for banks and the ones working in politics. If we’re talking about real world consequences and robbing people of opportunity. BUT that’s none of my business. And before you come at me for being a nepo baby myself, I will be the first to tell you that I literally deserve nothing.” The deflection and “self-effacing” approach being one way to minimize a backlash. Or there’s the Hailey Baldwin Bieber (a “double nepo baby”) approach: taking ownership of the “slur” by wearing it like a positive term on a t-shirt she sported around town during the first week of 2023 (when the NY Mag article was still fresh). 

    In fact, members of the Brat Pack probably look back and wish they had done something similar in order to “take back the narrative” when it was still fresh. But, as McCarthy points out, they were so young (Bieber was twenty-six when the nepo baby article came out and she chose to don that shirt in response) when it happened, that it was impossible not to be affected, not to take the unwanted branding seriously. McCarthy added, “If it didn’t touch something, you know, it’s that old saying, ‘If it gets you, you got it.’ If it didn’t touch some fear that we had harbored about ourselves, it wouldn’t have mattered, you know? Was it touching truth? It was touching fear, and fear is a powerful thing.”

    In a sense, by giving the term so much power, the group allowed the name to flourish. In short, they chose not to take the Madonna route after photos from her nude modeling days were published in Playboy and Penthouse (also in 1985, a big year for life-altering cover stories) by saying, “So what?” And with those two words, she steamrolled any attempts on the media’s part to end her career. Words, thus, only have the power or meaning that people give to them. Or, as Blum says to McCarthy during their first-ever meeting, “I just figured ‘sticks and stones.’” As in: “Stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.”

    But it’s clear that words can hurt in instances such as these, that they have the power to alter the trajectory of careers, therefore lives. Look at someone like Lindsay Lohan, who was ridiculed ad nauseam in the media for her drunken, drug-addled hijinks to the point where she became an irrevocable laughingstock in Hollywood (and, if we’re being honest, still is). However, there were certain sects in the media that sided with the Brat Pack at the time. In point of fact, the movie opens on an interviewer asking McCarthy, “Are we doing a disservice to you and the rest of the young group that, by calling you the Brat Pack and sort of putting in one group and stereotyping all of you as young actors who’ve made it now sort of control a lot of Hollywood…?” It’s here that McCarthy bursts out laughing, “Oh I wouldn’t say control… I think it’s easy to just group people together in any level. So it’s just an easier way to get a handle on people, but I think all of us are very different.” Sort of like The Breakfast Club itself. Which McCarthy wasn’t a part of.

    To be sure, one of the running jokes of Brats is asking different people who they think was in the Brat Pack and what movies are actually considered “Brat Pack movies.” Either everyone has a different answer, or no one knows for sure. Lea Thompson, now a mother to nepo babies Madelyn and Zoey Deutch, declares that she’s merely “Brat Pack-adjacent.” After all, she was in Back to the Future (some people considered Michael J. Fox classifiable in the Brat Pack category) and Some Kind of Wonderful (written by John Hughes, maker of Brat Packers, and directed by Howard Deutch, the Pretty in Pink director who would end up marrying Thompson in 1989). 

    It is also Thompson who points out that there’s a reason why this group of young actors was so impactful. For, in addition to bringing the collective youth sentiment to life onscreen at a time before social media existed to fill that void, Thompson posits, “I think we were at a very unique moment in history, and I boil it down to this: it was the first time you could hold a movie. And you could buy it. And you could put it in your thing and play it over and over again. And it was a very small part of time… It meant something more, it was physical.” And it was mostly the youth market buying these tangible items for their VCRs or record players (and yes, the soundtracks to these movies were just as important). Therefore, the young generation of that time connected with a specific set of people in a way that, say, Gen Z never will. Their lives are devoid of physical media in a way that further detaches them from the content they’re more mindlessly consuming. 

    So yes, to be a member of this as-of-yet-unnamed group in as late as May of 1985 held quite a lot of weight and influence. The kind that might start to go to even the most humble person’s head. And oh how they were humbled. For example, the fallout after the article resulted in many of the actors distancing themselves from one another (though McCarthy and Molly Ringwald, noticeably absent from the documentary, would go on to reteam for the inevitably panned Fresh Horses in 1988)—even if some of the best roles they were offered were in films co-starring their fellow Brat Packers. Estevez confirms this to McCarthy in the documentary when he admits that he backed out of an adaptation of Young Men With Unlimited Capital upon learning that McCarthy was potentially going to be cast as well.

    Rob Lowe was probably the least concerned out of everyone, or that’s how he comes across in Brats, informing McCarthy that there’s nothing but “goodwill” infused into the term. Now. The two also muse on one of their more ribald nights out, starting at Spago with Liza Minnelli and then ending up at Sammy Davis Jr.’s house—the only time, the pair notes, that the worlds of the Rat Pack and the Brat Pack meta-ly collided. Lowe adds to his reflection on that strange night, “When I think of the Brat Pack, I think of that night. Because stuff like that routinely happened. As it does, when you were in that moment. And you see that recycles every generation. With different people, different names and different places, but it’s the same story. Someone is having that moment. It can fuck you up, or it can be fun or it can be all of the above, but there are very few people that are ever in a place to go through that moment. And yet there are always people who will go through that moment every generation.” It seems the last time it really happened at full force though was with the consumption of “tabloid queens” like Paris, Nicole and Britney in the 2000s. 

    With regard to the absence of certain Brat Packers in the documentary, namely Ringwald, Judd Nelson and Anthony Michael Hall (who isn’t mentioned at any point), McCarthy fills in that space with hot takes on the unwanted epithet by such scholars/experts of social science meets pop culture as Malcolm Gladwell and Susannah Gora, who wrote 2010’s You Couldn’t Ignore Me If You Tried. It was Gora who said, upon the book’s release, “When [the Brat Pack article] first came out… these actors were stuck with that label. It was kind of a difficult and painful thing to deal with both personally and professionally.”

    As for Gladwell’s opinion on why the name endured, he insists it relates to encapsulating the generational transition in Hollywood that was going at that specific moment. And, what’s more, that paying attention to such a pop culture moment is “possible then in a way it’s not possible now… You can’t have a cultural touchstone that everyone in their twenties can refer to… Things have been fractured; we’ve gone from a relatively unified youth culture to a youth culture that looks like every other aspect of American society, which is everything’s all over the place. There’s no common denominator.” 

    And yet, among the many detailed explorations in Brats is the idea that America in the 80s was extremely fractured. But, to loosely quote Andrew Clark in The Breakfast Club, the country was just better at hiding it during that time (in part because there was no internet). Hence, bringing up the now all-too-common callout that John Hughes’ movies, ergo Brat Pack movies, were extremely white. But rather than chalking that up to Hughes being racist, Gladwell tells McCarthy, “He’s reflecting the way the world was in the 80s. You know, the Brown decision is ‘54, which is the legal end of educational segregation in this country, but the country just resegregates after that, just along kind of residential lines. So it, like, the reality of being a suburban, upper-middle-class suburban kid from outside Chicago in the 1980s is that there were, there was like one Black kid in your class. That’s the reality of it in that era… So we can watch those movies and be reminded that’s, that’s what America was.” From the perspective of the people with the privilege to tell stories in Hollywood. 

    In any case, McCarthy saves his pièce de résistance for the final minutes of the film: meeting David Blum for the first time. The writer who set all this trauma in motion. In truth, Blum himself reveals a certain kind of privilege that no writer today knows the security of: being on a contract with New York Magazine (instead of that other dreaded word: freelance) that required him to only write eight stories a year, complete with the perks of any paid airfare, paid hotels and paid meals required to write those stories. And, as he rehashes how the article came about, one can argue that it’s really Estevez’s fault for invoking the whole thing. For what was to be a simple feature article about him evolved when Estevez invited Blum out for a night on the town with him, Rob and Judd. 

    Observing them as though a fly on the wall, for no one was paying much attention to the “nobody writer,” Blum tells McCarthy that they were getting a lot of “special attention.” And he wasn’t. That clearly must have struck a nerve. He also makes mention of where the idea for the name first came from. Begging the question: is it actually Alan Richmond’s (of People) fault for “incepting” the idea of doing a play on the Rat Pack by calling him and a group of other journalists eating at a restaurant the Fat Pack?

    Through it all, Blum remains decidedly glib and defiant about the whole thing, reminding McCarthy, “There’s tradeoffs to being a celebrity. And some of it is you get whisked around the gate to get into the nightclub. These people wanted to be written about. These people agreed to talk to me. These people behaved the way they did. I’m doing my job as a journalist… It wasn’t meant to destroy or hurt anyone, but really just to define a group of people in a clever and interesting way.” But there’s the rub—why did Blum take it upon himself to “define” anyone? Because, as people need to be reminded all the time, that’s what writers do. They observe and, that’s right, define the world around them. That night, the world to be defined was the one orbited by Estevez, Lowe and Nelson. 

    While many wanted to push back on the impression that was given, in the original article, Blum has no trouble painting an all-too-accurate picture of the kind of male privilege that would have gone totally unchecked in 1985, regardless of being famous or not. But add fame and money into the mix, and there was an even more palpable air of “swagger.” So it is that the account of Estevez’s, Lowe’s and Nelson’s interactions with women were expectedly cringeworthy. And placed right in the first page of the article: “…by the time the blonde girl arrived, Rob Lowe had long since forgotten she was coming. He had turned back to the table, where his friends had once again lifted their bottles in a toast: for no reason, with no prompting, for what must have been the twentieth time of the night, the boys were about to clink bottles and unite in a private pact, a bond that could not be broken by all the pretty young girls in the room, or in the world, or even, perhaps, by the other, less famous young actors who shared the table with them as friends. As the bottles clinked, the boys cried together at the top of their lungs, “Na zdorovye!”—Russian for ‘good health,’ but really something else, a private signal among the three famous boys that only they understood.” A “secret handshake,” if you will, that only those on the inside of such a bubble of privilege could understand and appreciate. This extended even to “youth writers” of the time, like Jay McInerney, who was also invited out for evenings with Estevez and co. 

    It didn’t take long for Less Than Zero writer Bret Easton Ellis (also appearing to give his two cents in Brats) to enter the Brat Pack realm the same year the Blum article came out (two years later, he and McInerney would also suffer the blowback from the coining of that phrase by being dubbed as part of the “Literary Brat Pack”). In fact, as though to simply embrace both of their reputations for being “brats” by sheer non-virtue of being young and rich, Easton Ellis and his own article subject, Judd Nelson, decided to have a bit of fun trolling Tina Brown and Vanity Fair. After befriending Nelson, of whom Brown supposedly said, “I don’t like him”/“I want to bring him down a bit,” they decided to repitch the article, released in November of ‘85, as being about how the two visit the “hippest” places in L.A., eventually giving it the title, “Looking for Cool in L.A.” The troll? Easton Ellis and Nelson either deliberately went to the most “over” places they could name-check or made up locations altogether, namely “The Bud Club,” which could crop up anywhere in town depending on the night. Indeed, the entire article becomes centered on their quest to find out where it might be on that particular evening. The level of commitment to making readers believe it was real, along with all their other “advice” about where to go in L.A., is truly something to behold. By the time Brown caught on to the ruse, the article had already been published. Ellis never wrote for the magazine after that. 

    As for Blum, he continued his career in writing magazine articles (and even books), while Brat Packers started to fall off the radar as the 90s got underway. Ironically, the writer himself will never be known for anything else but coming up with that moniker. He, too, committed a form of seppuku on his career, taking a gamble on what he thought would elevate it instead of leaving it perhaps in a state of stagnation. Just as it was the case for many Brat Packers. Those on the periphery of it were, in fact, more likely to endure beyond the 80s. Sean Penn, for example, whose association with the “pack” even trickled over into his then wife’s life when she started hanging out with Sandra Bernhard and Jennifer Grey. That’s right, Madonna, Bernhard and Grey decided to call themselves the “Snatch Batch” after enough jaunts out on the town together. 

    With regard to Blum’s professional plateau, he admits to McCarthy that the article didn’t affect his career success as much as he thought it was going to. As he tells it, “I really thought I was going to be suddenly ushered into Tina Brown’s office [no, instead that was Bret Easton Ellis]. I’ve spent my whole, honestly, really, whole life—it comes up sooner or later with people I know. ‘You created the Brat Pack?’ I mean people just literally don’t know how to process that information.” He eventually concludes, “I hope it’s not the greatest thing I ever did. I really do.” The same way any Brat Packer might. 

    Though McCarthy pretends to make peace with Blum, as he’s walking out of the apartment, he asks, “But do you think you could’ve been nicer?” Blum laughs. McCarthy insists, “Seriously.” Blum replies, “It’s collateral damage, in my view, to making the point that here was a bunch of people that had become very famous and popular and I’m calling them the Brat Pack and here’s how I’m saying it.”

    This, clearly, isn’t what McCarthy wants to hear (i.e., closure not received), though he perks up at Blum’s casual admission to invoking collateral damage with the article. Either way, part of McCarthy’s subtle revenge seems to be filming Blum during this interview with his bare belly protruding out from the bottom of his shirt. Now forever immortalized just like the Brat Pack name. 

    Demi Moore, whose presence in the movie is possibly more surprising than Ringwald’s absence, is the one to distill the whole thing down to this: “And it actually wasn’t even about really any of us. It was about the person who wrote it. Trying to be clever and get their next job.” Apart from unwittingly speaking to how capitalism hurts us all, it’s also a very “celebrity way” to negate a writer’s work and worth. But perhaps it’s a fair trade considering how much he managed to denigrate theirs.

    Even so, rather than Brats being a “revenge of the Brat Packers” story, it is one of acceptance, of making peace with something. And, more than anything, projecting a new, more positive meaning onto it. Besides, no matter what they do, you’ll still see them as you want to see them—in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Fashion is Cyclical: How to Bring Back the ’80s in Your Aesthetic This Season

    Fashion is Cyclical: How to Bring Back the ’80s in Your Aesthetic This Season

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    This post may contain affiliate links, which means we may receive a commission if you purchase through our links. Please read our full disclosure here.

    Have you been trying out new aesthetics? Or just want to stay ahead of the fashion trends? (Fashion is cyclical, after all!)

    If so, you may be interested in the 80s girl aesthetic.

    Today, we’re going to go into the aesthetic and explain how you can rock the ’80s head to toe or just incorporate some ’80s pieces into your existing closet this season.

    Before we get started, here are some things you should be looking for to get the ’80s vibe:

    • Bold colors and prints
    • Oversized silhouettes
    • Pieces that are feminine & edgy
    • Sporty fabrics and details
    • Statement accessories

    To help put this all together, this post will show you lots of ’80s-inspired outfit ideas to get your inspiration going, plus accessories to give any outfit an ’80s, vintage vibe.

    Let’s get started!

    Related reading: What to Wear to an ’80s Party (Tons of Outfit Ideas!)

    Key Elements of the 80s Girl Aesthetic

    Bold Colors & Prints

    When someone mentions the 1980s, bold colors and prints immediately come to mind.

    So, when putting together your 80s-inspired outfits, consider what prints and bright colors you can add.

    You might want to opt for some bright green, blue, pink, or yellow shades (honestly, anything neon goes) to give your wardrobe an ’80s feel.

    Oversized Silhouettes

    Another popular fashion trend of the ’80s was the oversized silhouette.

    For example, you might want to consider adding an oversized suit to your new wardrobe or experiment with wide-leg pants or boyfriend-fit shirts.

    Feminine & Edgy

    You might also be interested in the feminine yet edgy look of the 80s.

    The idea is to be feminine in your color and styling choices (think bright pinks, hair scrunchies, makeup, and hair worn down in feminine curls) but edge up your outfits with things like biker jackets, statement jewelry, and edgy boots.

    Statement Accessories

    You also don’t want to forget about jewelry!

    Jewelry is such an easy (and oftentimes affordable) way to bring a little bit of an ’80s vibe into your look.

    Seek out pieces such as large chunky or colorful earrings, layered bracelets, or chunky necklaces to get that ’80s aesthetic.

    Related reading: The ’80s Style Clothing Pieces We’re Adding to Cart RN

    80s Girl Aesthetic Outfit Ideas

    Punk Princess

    Top from Dolls Kill

    An iconic look of the 80s was the punk princess vibe!

    If you want to recreate this type of look, you will want to go for dark and edgy clothing that will give the punk rock type of style.

    For example, this outfit incorporates chunky heels, buckles, burgundy red, and a dark leather jacket to help you look like a punk princess.

    Leather

    Leather biker jacket and mini skirt outfit inspired by 80s fashionLeather biker jacket and mini skirt outfit inspired by 80s fashion

    Leather jackets were very popular in the ’80s, and they’re back in a big way right now.

    Biker jackets were also a specific type of jacket that was trendy during this time, so if you want an all-leather jacket to resemble the 80s looks with leather, you should check out this outfit, which includes a super cool biker jacket and boots!

    Also, to save money, this is a great item to thrift if you have a good shop near you. (Or check out one of our fave online thrift stores.)

    Polka Dots

    Polka dot dress from Princess PollyPolka dot dress from Princess Polly

    Polka dots were also common in the ’80s, so a polka-dotted piece is a great way to bring the decade into your modern looks.

    For example, you could add this adorable polka-dot dress to your closet for an easy and cute everyday look that definitely will give you the 80s aesthetic.

    Just pair this dress with cute heels or sneakers, and you will have the perfect subtle ’80s-inspired look!

    Sporty Spice

    Workout set from AmazonWorkout set from Amazon

    Neon workout outfits were the go-tos for fitness enthusiasts in the ’80s, especially paired with leg warmers and colorful sweatbands.

    However, if you want to get this kind of sporty look today, you may want something a bit more subtle (relatively).

    For instance, this neon crop top and leggings workout set has a total ’80s vibe but wouldn’t look out of place in a gym today. Pair it with simple white sneakers for a cool look, or go bolder with a bright pink or orange pair.

    Power Suit Chic

    Oversized blazer from ASOSOversized blazer from ASOS

    Another popular type of style during the 80s was the power suit, complete with an oversized jacket and wide-leg pants.

    Oh, and shoulder pads — can’t forget the shoulder pads.

    The good news is that this look is trending again this year, so it’s easy to find. While pieces aren’t quite as shoulder-padded as they were in the ’80s, the oversized vibe is back.

    For instance, this cute outfit features an oversized belted jacket and matching pants that are just as at home in the 2020s as they were in the ’80s.

    Neon Dreams

    Lounge set from FashionnovaLounge set from Fashionnova

    Neon was not only popular for workout fits in the ’80s. It was basically worn for every occasion.

    So, if you want to add neon colors to your everyday looks to help you achieve the 80s aesthetic, this type of outfit is perfect.

    This colorful two-piece set is the perfect everyday lounge fit that you can wear while running errands or hanging out with friends, and it will give you the look of the 80s aesthetic.

    Glam Rock Goddess

    Studded jacket from Nasty GalStudded jacket from Nasty Gal

    The rocker-style look was also a popular trend during the 1980s, and if you’re down for edgy looks, you need to try it!

    To look like a glam rock goddess, start with this outfit. It features a super cool studded jacket with matching studded shorts and some cute black boots to finish it off.

    As a bonus, you could wear all of these pieces separately as part of your ’80s outfits — versatility at its best.

    Shoes & Accessories

    Chunky Hoops

    Chunky hoops from Princess PollyChunky hoops from Princess Polly

    The easiest possible way to give any outfit an ’80s feel is with a pair of chunky hoops like these.

    These earrings will not only give you that ’80s girl aesthetic but will also add something fun to your looks to make them stand out.

    Sneakers

    Sneakers from NikeSneakers from Nike

    If you are looking for shoes that you can wear with basically any outfit and on a daily basis, look no further than the Nike Cortez sneakers.

    The original Cortez style was extremely popular in the ’80s, and it’s made a huge comeback in the last couple of years.

    So, make sure to check out these Nike Cortez leather sneakers if you want a shoe that will give you the 80s aesthetic yet still look trendy today.

    Retro Sunglasses

    Sunglasses from AmazonSunglasses from Amazon

    Another great way to add something fun to your 80s-inspired outfits is with a pair of sunglasses!

    Cat-eye shades, like these triangle sunglasses, are a retro accessory that totally evokes the look of the ’80s.

    Plus, they’re super cheap, so they’re easy to experiment with.

    Styling Tips

    Add Trendy Pieces

    If you just want to add a little bit of an ’80s feel to your existing closet, start by adding trendy pieces from the ’80s to your looks.

    As we discussed earlier, accessories like bold, chunky jewelry and retro triangle sunglasses are easy and affordable ways to give any outfit an ’80s vibe.

    Check out this video to see additional trendy things from the ’80s that you should totally consider adding to your looks, such as high-top shoes and ripped jeans.

    Get Inspiration from Iconic Looks of the 80s

    Another great way to help you style your ’80s-inspired outfits is to gain inspiration from iconic celebrities from the 80s.

    For example, look at celebrities like Madonna and Cindy Crawford and their fashion from the 1980s to get some inspiration for what your ’80s-style outfits should look like.

    Check out this video for some iconic looks inspired by the ’80s era!

    What retro chic ’80s style looks will you be wearing?

    What ’80s-style clothing do you have in your closet? What ’80s-style clothing will you be adding to your wardrobe?

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    Ashlyn – University of Florida

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  • The ’80s Trend You Feared Is Making a Major Comeback This Spring

    The ’80s Trend You Feared Is Making a Major Comeback This Spring

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    Everywhere we look, the ’80s are having a renaissance. From bold maximalist earrings and chunky bangles to nipped-waist blazers and structured tweed jackets, it’s hard to outrun the decade’s excess aesthetic right now. And while some items have been more readily accepted by the masses, others are still considered shocking news in 2023.

    Once such pot-stirring style is bubble hems, and I’m sorry to say it, but they too are about to make a major comeback. We saw the first inklings of their return in the 2023 collections with several bubble-hem skirts and dresses from Khaite and Prada, but for spring 2024, designers went full-force on the voluminous silhouettes, so consider this your official warning: No matter your personal feelings on them, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of the balloon-like shapes at the turn of the year.

    I don’t blame you if you associate the floofy shapes with an awkward middle-school dance or the wardrobe in 13 Going on 30, but I can assure you that the styles coming down the pipeline are much more sophisticated than they are retro. At Schiaparelli and Altuzarra, two-piece skirt sets were given the puffed-up treatment for maximum drama, but at Bally and Bottega Veneta, bubble hems came in the form of softer draping on dresses and skirts. Personally, I love the look of a bubble hem on a minidress with tights and heels for a holiday ensemble, but regardless, I’m sharing all the runway and influencer imagery of the trend so you can see for yourself.

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    Anna LaPlaca

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  • Totally Killer Shows How “Wild” the 80s Were, And How Much the Decade Fucked With the Heads of the Marginalized

    Totally Killer Shows How “Wild” the 80s Were, And How Much the Decade Fucked With the Heads of the Marginalized

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    As far as gimmicky horror movies go, there’s been no shortage since Scream reanimated the genre in 1996. And, in the decades since its initial release, Kevin Williamson effectively gave permission to writers everywhere to be as meta as possible with horror (/comedy horror). Which is why we now have shows such as The Other Black Girl literally calling out in the dialogue how it’s just like the premise of Get Out (and yes, it pretty much is). In Totally Killer, our sort-of final girl, Jamie Hughes (Kiernan Shipka), also has no trouble calling out the cinematic similarities of the plot she’s living through. Specifically, its similarities to Back to the Future and the aforementioned Scream. Mainly the former because Jamie accidentally ends up traveling back to the 80s (October 27, 1987, to be exact) after her best friend, Amelia (Kelcey Mawema), invents a time machine based on her mother Lauren’s (Kimberly Huie) abandoned scrawlings from a high school notebook. 

    The apparatus used? A photobooth at the abandoned Vernon carnival grounds where the high school science fair is going to be held. When Jamie approaches the desolate, creepy place (called Billy’s Boardwalk) to find Amelia, she can’t help but ask why the principal would want to hold the fair here. Amelia responds matter-of-factly, “Principal Summers got it for free. You know, to help bring people back in. This used to be the place to hang in Vernon, but now it’s just another stop on the murder tour.” And, speaking of the murder tour, it’s a real thing that’s actually run by Chris Dubusage (Jonathan Potts), the self-styled “expert” on the Sweet Sixteen murders that happened in 1987 (basically, he’s sort of the Gale Weathers [Courteney Cox] of the movie). The murders that have made Jamie’s mom, Pam (Julie Bowen), hyper-paranoid and very helicopter parent-y (that’s right, she deliberately smacks of Sidney Prescott [Neve Campbell]). Which is why, when Jamie says she wants to go to a concert with Amelia on Halloween and Pam proceeds to get all protective and foreboding about it, Jamie snaps back, “So I can’t go to a concert because your friends were murdered thirty-five years ago?” Jamie keeps up the harshness by adding, “I sort of wish you guys would just get over it.” 

    But, obviously, there are many things that both Pam and Jamie’s dad, Blake (Lochlyn Munro), haven’t gotten over since 1987. For Blake, it’s an ongoing contempt for Chris Dubusage and his exploitative ways. For Pam, it isn’t just that her friends were murdered, but also a high-key obsession with Molly Ringwald—hence, dressing as Claire Standish from The Breakfast Club for Halloween. This is no coincidence, as Jamie soon finds out. For her mom’s friend group in high school is referred to as “the Mollys” because they all like to dress in different iterations of her movie characters. This being somewhat ironic considering that Ringwald never played a “popular girl” (save for Claire), favoring instead the underdog characters from the “wrong side of the tracks” (this phrase being literal in Pretty in Pink). Perhaps it was ultimately a sign of Pam’s humanity beneath all the mean girl bravado, what with her role as the leader of the group dictating that Heather (Anna Diaz), Tiffany (Liana Liberato) and Marisa (Stephi Chin-Salvo) should also dress like the “ain’t she sweet” teen queen of the 80s (even though Tiffany is the only redhead). But before unearthing any of that humanity, Jamie is shocked to find out the kind of person her mother was as a teenager after her unexpected bout with time travel. The one caused by being chased into the photo booth by the revived killer (who has already stabbed Jamie’s mom by this point). 

    When the killer accidentally stabs at the glass plate where the date is displayed, it manages to create the extra metal conduction Amelia was missing to make the time machine work. So it is that Jamie returns to October 27, 1987 (consider it her version of Marty McFly’s November 5, 1955), the date preset by Amelia, who wanted to help Jamie catch the killer from the start so that her mother won’t be murdered in the present. On the other side of time, Jamie is relieved to have evaded the killer, but that relief is gone the instant she realizes (to the initially faint tune of Bananarama’s “Venus”) that she is very much back in 1987. 

    And, of course, that makes things rife for comedy…which happens to be director Nahnatchka Khan’s specialty (lest anyone forget, she wrote and directed Don’t Trust the B- – – – in Apartment 23…where, incidentally, Kiernan Shipka cameo’d as herself in an episode). Tackling the script by David Matalon, Sasha Perl-Raver and Jen D’Angelo, Khan visually plays up the shock on Jamie’s part. Not just at having time traveled, but how “problematic” things are in 1987, including the sight of a man wearing an “FBI (Federal Booby Inspector)” shirt at the carnival. When Jamie chastises him for wearing it, his girlfriend notes, “I like your shirt.” Just another indication that the collective mind hadn’t yet been reprogrammed to understand the insidious presence of misogyny in every facet of culture. 

    Jamie is further appalled when, after asking a woman with two kids what year it is, she offers to give her a ride back to school…where she’s supposed to be at this time of day. Jamie replies, “I can’t get in a car with you, you’re a total stranger. You could be a serial killer.” The woman laughs and says, “Would a serial killer wear Gloria Vanderbilt?” Thus, Jamie rides in the smoke-filled station wagon (another amplification of how different things were back then because a mother was willing to freely suffocate her children with secondhand smoke) to the school. Where she’s met with even more anathema interactions that don’t jibe with her Gen Z perspective. Starting with her sighting of the Vernon “mascot” on the side of the school: a “Red Devil” a.k.a. Native American. She remarks to herself, “And there’s the racism. Knew that was coming.” But with the bad, Jamie takes the good—for instance, a total lack of concern with security on the part of the admin lady she approaches at the front desk with a fake story about being an exchange student from Prince Edward Island. When the woman cuts her off and asks her what grade she’s in so she can give her a catch-all schedule, Jamie asks incredulously, “You don’t need to verify anything?” The woman scoffs, “What is this, Fort Knox?” 

    Later on, when Jamie needs to figure out what class Amelia’s mom is in, she also approaches the admin lady with the same view she would in the present, figuring that such information can’t be given out because it’s private. But no, the admin lady readily tells her that Lauren is in Earth Science and gets back to reading her romance novel. In disbelief, Jamie notes to herself, “Flying on a plane right now must be insane.”

    It is the “insanity” of the 80s overall that Khan and the writers highlight as much as an appreciation for Halloween, Back to the Future and Scream. However, even more significant than that is the racial element that eventually makes itself known by the time the killer is revealed. For the culprit behind the three murders (Pam’s murder thirty-five years later serves as the additional plot twist) turns out to be a person of color whose girlfriend died as a direct result of the Mollys’ bullying. Save for Pam, who wasn’t there on the night in question, and therefore wasn’t targeted by the murderer in 1987.

    That the killer chooses to dress in a quintessential 80s douchebag mask (one that’s kind of reminiscent of a Donald Trump face) is also telling of “the other” during that decade trying especially hard to fit in with the rest of the white mold held up as an “exemplar” of “how to be.” Not to mention how telling it is that Marisa and Heather so gladly go along with emulating Ringwald because that’s what the white leader of their clique wants to do.

    What’s more, the fact that the killer was constantly bullied and ostracized himself heightens the message that things weren’t really “better” “back in the day.” They were simply more convenient for the white majority that didn’t have to “watch itself” as much as it does now (that it’s becoming a minority). 

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • This Guy Replaced All His Gear with 1980s Tech for a Week

    This Guy Replaced All His Gear with 1980s Tech for a Week

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    Technology advances quickly, so the difference between today’s gadgets and those you could buy in the 1980s is dramatic. That said, the decade did give us early cell phones, portable tape players, VCRs, and personal computers. Twenty-something YouTuber Liam Thompson wanted to see what it would be like to live using only tech from the ’80s for a week.

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    Paul Strauss

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  • Sofia Richie Grainge Wore the ’80s Jacket Trend That’s About to Be Everywhere

    Sofia Richie Grainge Wore the ’80s Jacket Trend That’s About to Be Everywhere

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    After our slightly ’80s-inspired (and very loud luxury) cover spread starring none other than 2023’s It girl Sofia Richie Grainge, I can’t say I was surprised to find a slideshow featuring one of the era’s biggest and most relevant-right-now trends pop up on her Instagram feed. That’s not to say I wasn’t happy to see it there, especially since I’ve been rallying behind the vintage outerwear’s return to fame for quite some time now. If you haven’t yet guessed, I’m referring to the tapered-in, gold-buttoned, big-shouldered blazers and jackets from the oft-slept-on decade in fashion that—thanks to brands like Saint Laurent, Alaïa, Schiaparelli, and more—are making a massive comeback for fall. 

    Richie Grainge, in particular, chose a highlighter-yellow take on the style, with hers featuring a military-style collar and a long-line silhouette. Though the photos, which she captioned with just a lemon emoji, don’t show her entire ‘fit, she appears to be wearing black jeans and carrying an Hermès Swift Kelly bag, a style that’s currently on sale for over $15,000 (casual). 

    While styles similar to Richie Grainge’s are all over the secondhand market—I have a habit of checking the RealReal for them every morning before I get up—brands like Zara, H&M, and more are, too, getting in on the ’80s-blazer trend, making it both easy and affordable to mimic the newlywed’s look. Scroll down to shop some of my personal favorites that are available RN.

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    Eliza Huber

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  • The ’80s Jacket Trend That’s About to Replace *All* of Your Oversize Blazers

    The ’80s Jacket Trend That’s About to Replace *All* of Your Oversize Blazers

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    Unlike the 2020s, a time when every blazer constructed for women seems to feature an excess of fabric, the essential silhouette had a far more structured and fitted look 40 years ago, in a far too often slept on era for fashion, the ’80s. Then, the likes of Yves Saint Laurent, Marc Bohan at Dior, and Karl Lagerfeld at Chanel designed the now-favorite workwear piece not to look like menswear, but to accentuate a woman’s frame and sense of style, with hourglass tailoring, cropped-at-the-waist cuts, unexpected lapels, statement buttons, and bold color options that made each individual blazer feel like an outfit in and of itself. 

    In the last few months, ever since I went to a vintage store in Milan called Cavalli e Nastri and discovered a treasure trove of ’80s-era YSL Rive Gauche blazers inside, I’ve been perhaps a bit too obsessed with sourcing the French label’s nipped-in and cropped suiting and similar styles from other brands from the time on the secondhand market, setting up endless eBay and The RealReal alerts in order to get the best deals. And the more I search for them, the more often I see them elsewhere, on the streets of New York, in hidden vintage stores, and most frequently, on Instagram. 

    All this has lead me to the conclusion that while you shouldn’t get rid of every oversize blazer in your closet, it is time to make room for a different style—an older style—that, I know firsthand has the power to make any outfit feel more polished, more expensive, and more tuned in than any big, boxy alternative ever could. And to prove it to you, I gathered just about everything you could ever want to see relating to ’80s-era cropped, tailored blazers, from runway images of them from their heyday to modern Instagram adaptations. Scroll down to dig through it all.

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    Eliza Huber

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  • Monetize (And Monetize And Monetize) Your Talent: Air Explores the Birth of a New American Dream: Passive Income

    Monetize (And Monetize And Monetize) Your Talent: Air Explores the Birth of a New American Dream: Passive Income

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    If Air seeks to emphasize one thing, it’s that you should always leverage your talent to secure the utmost profit. That’s certainly what Michael Jordan did back in 1984 as a rookie who made an unthinkable negotiation with Nike. One that would, for the first time in history, allow an athlete like Jordan to earn a percentage of every pair of Air Jordans sold. After all, it was his name on the sneakers, his name spurring all the sales. So why shouldn’t he get his cut? This question is present throughout the narrative thread of Air, which revolves entirely around the lead-up to making this landmark deal. Marking Ben Affleck’s fifth directorial effort following Gone Baby Gone, The Town, Argo and Live By Night, Air is a much more blatant nod to the “American dream.” You know, the one that pertains solely to bowing down to capitalism a.k.a. “getting this money.” Ironically, it’s also distributed by Amazon, which Nike no longer sells their shoes through in a bid to “elevate consumer experiences through more direct, personal relationships.”

    Sort of the way Jordan wanted to elevate the consumer experience of his adoring fans by giving them “a piece of himself” through a shoe. Fittingly enough, both Nike and Michael Jordan are quintessential American dream stories, with the latter being a shoestring operation (pun intended) co-founded in 1964 by University of Oregon track athlete Phil Knight (Affleck) and his coach, Bill Bowerman (though Alex Convery, the writer of Air, doesn’t bother to mention his name). It was Knight who sold the company’s (then known as Blue Ribbon Sports) first shoe offerings (made by Onitsuka Tiger, a brand that, for whatever reason, agreed to let Knight be the U.S.’ exclusive distributor) out of the back of his car at track meets most of the time. Steadily, Blue Ribbon Sports kept making a name for itself as a leader in distributing Japanese running shoes. But it was in 1971 that Bowerman fucked around with his own innovation by using his wife’s waffle iron to create a different kind of rubber sole for the benefit of runners. One that was lightweight, therefore conducive to increasing speed. This was also the year the company rebranded to Nike and was bequeathed with its signature swoosh logo by graphic designer Carolyn Davidson. With the “Moon Shoe” and the “Waffle Trainer” released in 1972 and 1974 respectively, Nike sales exploded into a multimillion-dollar enterprise.

    Jordan’s Cinderella story comes across as having slightly fewer hiccups in his rise to prominence, the main one being his slight by the varsity high school team when he was a sophomore at Emsley A. Laney High School in Wilmington, North Carolina. Written off as too short for varsity, Jordan waited patiently to grow four more inches and asserted himself as the star of Laney’s JV team. After getting his spot on varsity, it didn’t take long for a number of colleges to offer him a scholarship. He settled on University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, quickly distinguishing himself on the basketball team there and having no trouble eventually catching the eye of Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, rejoining his true love onscreen), Nike’s then basketball talent scout (at a time when such “lax” job roles were still in existence). Convinced of Jordan’s status as a once-in-a-generation talent, he begs and pleads with Knight to use the entire basketball budget to offer Jordan an endorsement deal.

    Alas, although named after the Greek goddess who personifies victory, Nike was anything but victorious in being a basketball shoe contender with the likes of Converse and Adidas as 1984 commenced. After all, the company had been built on running shoes. That had always been their bread and butter. Nonetheless, Vaccaro still can’t figure out why basketball players are so averse to putting their faith in Nike. But, as Howard White (Chris Tucker), the VP of Nike’s Basketball Athlete Relations tells Sonny, “Nike is a damn jogging company. Black people don’t jog. You ain’t gonna catch no Black person running twenty-six miles for no damn reason. Man, the cops probably pull you over thinkin’ you done stole something.” Which isn’t far off considering the need for shirts like, “Don’t Shoot, It’s Just Cardio” (tragically inspired by the death of Ahmaud Arbery).

    Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman), the VP of Marketing for Basketball, is more naively optimistic during a meeting in which he says, “Mr. Orwell was right. 1984 has been a tough year. Our sales are down, our growth is down. But this company is about who we really are when we are down for the count.” That said, Strasser and Knight both insist they have a strict 250K budget to attract three players. Sonny tells Strasser he doesn’t want to sign three players, he wants to sign just one: Jordan. He paints Strasser the innovative-for-its-time picture, “We build a shoe line just around him. We tap into something deeper, into the player’s identity.” This being something that would become the subsequent norm with endorsement deals, not just from sports players, but every kind of celebrity.

    To this end, it’s of no small significance that Air opens with Dire Straits’ “Money For Nothing,” a song that derides famous ilk (namely, rock stars) who get money for doing no “real” work, like those who have to fritter their hours away in a minimum wage job at an appliance store (the site where Mark Knopfler overheard a man making derisive comments about the people he was seeing on MTV and then turned the rant into “Money For Nothing”). Jordan, too, might be seen that way by some, at least for making millions (billions?) for doing nothing other than allowing a shoe with his name and silhouette on it to be sold. And as “Money For Nothing” plays, Affleck gets us into the mindset of what the 80s were all about: consumer culture melding with pop culture. For it was in the 80s that the potential for endorsement deals, fueled by Reaganomics’ love of neoliberalism on steroids, were fully realized and taken advantage of.

    Sonny, seeing something entirely American in Jordan, crystallizes his feelings about him to Phil by insisting that he is “the most competitive guy I’ve ever seen. He is a fucking killer.” And that means he’s going to kill for Nike, profit-wise. As Sonny chases down a meeting with Jordan, who has made his disdain for the company abundantly clear (especially as he “loves” Adidas), it’s through his mother, Deloris (Viola Davis, who, although Jordan had no involvement in the production of the film, was offered as a suggestion by him to play the part), that Sonny finds his “in” with Michael. Much to the consternation of Michael’s agent, David Falk (Chris Messina), who distinctly warns Sonny not to contact the family.

    But Sonny has no interest in following rules, if that hadn’t already been made evident. And when he finally does land the pitch meeting with Jordan, he’s sure to tell him and his parents that Michael’s trajectory is “an American story, and that’s why Americans are gonna love it.” He then adds, as a coup de grâce in terms of flattery, “A shoe is just a shoe…until somebody steps into it [words Deloris will remind him of later when bargaining for Michael’s cut of the profits]. Then it has meaning. The rest of us just want a chance to touch that greatness.” And that, in the end, is how Jordan makes four hundred million dollars a year in passive income from a shoe.

    Even if it was an initial struggle for Deloris to lock down that income. Indeed, when Sonny tells her that Nike will never go for her and Michael’s demand and that the business is simply unfair in that regard, Deloris replies, “I agree that the business is unfair. It’s unfair to my son, it’s unfair to people like you. But every once in a while, someone comes along that’s so extraordinary, that it forces those reluctant to part with some of [their] wealth [to do so]. Not out of charity, but out of greed, because they are so very special. And even more rare, that person demands to be treated according to their worth, because they understand what they are worth.”

    With such an ardent speech about getting money, getting paid, it highlights that, more than just being a movie about how capitalism allows companies to exploit those making the most money for them, Air is about how capitalism indoctrinates the human brain so much as to make it believe that everything has to be about money. That the greatest art of all is not the art or skill itself, but how to get the most one possibly can for it. So it is that Bruce Springsteen’s always cringe-y hit, “Born in the U.S.A.,” plays while viewers are given epilogues to each person’s financially profitable fate. Funnily enough, Strasser had specifically mentioned to Vaccaro earlier in the film that one of the songs most beloved by Republicans (Reagan himself famously cited it for his presidential “cause”) is not about the hallowed notion of the American dream at all. In fact, as he tells Sonny, he was listening to it on his way to work most mornings (it had just come out during the year Air takes place), and he was all “fired up about American freedom…but this morning, I really focused on the words. And it is not about freedom. Like, not in any way. It’s about a guy who comes home from Vietnam, can’t find a job and I’m just belting it out enthusiastically.”

    There’s something to that analogy in looking for the deeper, perhaps unwitting meaning to Air. It isn’t really about the beauty of the American dream, but how ugly and petty it makes everyone pursuing it for the sake of as many pieces of paper as possible.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • ’80s Excess Meets the Rich Mom—This Is the Niche Aesthetic Gaining Momentum

    ’80s Excess Meets the Rich Mom—This Is the Niche Aesthetic Gaining Momentum

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    TikTok has a fascination with wealth, or at least what it “looks” like. The ongoing conversations and debates about “quiet luxury” and the “old money aesthetic” have taught us that. Around this time last year, the internet became hyperfixated on looking like a rich mom. A few months later, it was emulating older women who own beachfront villas. Emerging from the dust is a more elaborate fashion identity, marrying the glamour of the rich mom with the over-the-top kitschiness of the ’80s through padded shoulders, ostentation, and flamboyant power suits. If you look like the wife of a Texas oil tycoon, you’ve nailed the part.

    There was no such thing as too much in the ’80s. The more the sequins and the bigger the fur coat, the better. Nothing reminds us more of the era’s flamboyance than Dynasty reruns. Sure, it was melodrama at its soapiest, but Alexis and Dominique’s quick-witted exchanges in padded-shoulder power blouses with the most conspicuous of statement jewelry was the show. More than 30 years later, the show’s influence in fashion is unwavering.

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    Indya Brown

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  • The ’80s-Inspired Jewelry Trend I’m Absolutely Fawning Over

    The ’80s-Inspired Jewelry Trend I’m Absolutely Fawning Over

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    Designers have attempted to make ’80s fashion happen on countless occasions to no avail, or at least not to the level of success that both the ’90s and the early aughts have experienced in recent years. It wasn’t until last October—when Anthony Vaccarello’s spring/summer 2023 runway collection for Saint Laurent debuted—that the possibility of a revival with significant bearing began to gain traction. His fall collection gave the final push. 

    Strong shoulders, power suiting, and aviator jackets dominated the French label’s fall offering, sending viewers through the space-time continuum back to the era of Madonna music videos, Jane Fonda workouts, and Top Gun, the original. But of all the pieces displayed on the runway, the ones that truly solidified the return of ’80s fashion were the oversize oblong cuff bracelets that adorned nearly every model’s wrist at the show.

    Ever since, it’s felt as if all of the chicest, most eye-catching outfits on my Instagram feed feature that one accessory—an ’80s-esque cuff bracelet or bangle in shiny gold or silver. Saint Laurent’s designs from spring are a common pick, but they’re certainly not the only ones finding success. Small jewelry brands such as Agmes and Alexis Bittar have introduced styles of their own, as have fast-fashion brands like Mango and Zara. Most iconic are the various versions of the Bone Cuff, designed by Elsa Peretti in the ’70s for Tiffany & Co., that have been returning in flux and experiencing a surge in popularity on secondhand designer retail sites like The RealReal. 

    Suffice it to say, all signs are pointing toward an ’80s revival of epic proportions, and the chicest way to get involved is with one of the 30 cuffs below. 

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    Eliza Huber

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  • Gen Z Has Spoken: The Only 6 Handbag Trends That Matter to Them RN

    Gen Z Has Spoken: The Only 6 Handbag Trends That Matter to Them RN

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    Apparently, age isn’t just a number anymore. It’s a letter. To be honest, I didn’t even know I was considered part of Gen Z until I started writing this article. All of these different labels—Gen X,Y, Z, boomer, millennial—are really just trendy ways of describing your age. But putting aside my age-labeling qualms, I figured it was time to start thinking about what our generation is wearing these days, particularly regarding our handbags.

    On my walk to work, I passed through SoHo and Nolita, two of the most overtly trendy neighborhoods attracting more than their fair share of skateboarding vloggers. Baguette bags, designer belt bags, mini bags, nylon backpacks, and saddlebags surrounded me. But while these bags had a modern look, the styles themselves were nothing new. And I realized that being a Gen Z is about bringing the past into the present.

    I thought about one of my favorite handbags (a bluish-white monogrammed Yves Saint Laurent baguette bag from the 1950s that my grandmother passed down to me) and what it had lived through: In 1954, it was propped up on a wooden dresser in a Back Bay condo. In 1988, it was looped around my mom’s wrist on her way to a first date. And now, it’s in 2023 with me, walking the streets of the West Village.

    Being a member of Gen Z means that we know how to revitalize a good trend. We hijack everything and use the past for inspiration. Take the baguette bag that flaunts the streets today, designed by Fendi and popularized in the 1990s. Look at the nylon backpack that was created by Miuccia Prada in 1984 to be the next It bag, or even the scrunchie bags, resurrecting the 1960s invention and fad of the scrunchie. All of our bags pay homage to the ones that made fashion history and our generation is remaking this with a distinctly 21st Century spin.

    So, my age is the last letter in the alphabet. And just as Gen Z is about appreciating all of the bags and letters that came before us, it’s also up to us to restart the cycle. When I think about Gen Z’s trends now, I realize that at the core, it’s all about unity. We are the generation that unites all generations, and I’m pretty proud to be a part of it.

    Keep scrolling to see all of the Gen Z handbag trends that are revitalizing fashion history’s most wearable trends.

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    Anna LaPlaca

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  • Better to Have a Constant Sense of Dread Than Be Dead (Or Is It?): Noah Baumbach Revives White Noise at a Moment We Need to be Reminded of Our Inherent Doom

    Better to Have a Constant Sense of Dread Than Be Dead (Or Is It?): Noah Baumbach Revives White Noise at a Moment We Need to be Reminded of Our Inherent Doom

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    A long-held fear is being dredged up in the artistic output of late. The one that Woody Allen made an entire career out of before everyone suddenly remembered his 1992 sexual abuse allegation. That fear, of course, is death. “The march toward nonexistence,” as Babette (Greta Gerwig) phrases it in Noah Baumbach’s adaptation of Don DeLillo’s 1985 novel, White Noise. It’s a “march” we’re all told we must face, sooner or later. No matter how many advancements in medical care and plastic surgery, or how much money one has at their disposal to stave off Death for as long as possible.

    For a while, it seemed as though our collective society had forgotten about death… at least as a muse for artistic inspiration. Or perhaps it had become too much of a cliché to keep bringing it up in art. Plus, the more recent obsession with the carnival of horrors known as modern politics is what’s been keeping most artists preoccupied with regard to what shows up in their work. Yet that general sense of anxiety always leads back to one core fear: it’s all going to end. Both for the individual and the world at large. To that point, Baumbach is here to remind us of what DeLillo (and every other writer) has been saying since time immemorial—by adapting the author’s most well-known (and possibly most beloved) work. And, although not similar in caliber or subject matter, another recently-adapted novel from Taffy Brodesser-Akner, Fleishman Is In Trouble, evokes the same sense of middle-age-related doom and gloom. As Toby Fleishman (played by Jesse Eisenberg in the limited series) puts it, “This is what our ancestors died for: the right for us to be middle-aged and bored and miserable.” And yet, despite this misery, not seeing death as something to be welcomed, so much as feared. With the ultimate fear always being the unknown—for that allows the human mind to build up fear to a much more intense, debilitating level.

    In the decade when White Noise was released as a novel, the advent of American society’s own sense of “settling into middle-age” was at a peak: Reagan was president, the suburban “dream” was still a sought-after “ambition” and yuppie “culture” reigned supreme. By the same token, the postmodern “affliction” was crystallized by the arrival of MTV, with its “scandalizing” imagery that peddled—in the eyes of such pearl-clutchers as Nancy Reagan and Tipper Gore—sex, drugs and sin. Even though the latter was married to “liberal” Al Gore, she was known for being especially upset by Madonna (then in the height of her “Like A Virgin” vixen days), declaring, “Popular culture is morally bankrupt, flagrantly licentious and utterly materialistic—and Madonna is the worst of all.” Perhaps she took “Material Girl” too literally? A song, incidentally, that ironically mocks the Decade of Excess through a video that finds Madonna rebuffing her male suitors’ promises of diamonds and furs and other assorted trappings of wealth in favor of a simple bouquet of flowers. Appropriately, this song also came out the year White Noise did, a book hailed as the “cornerstone of postmodern literature” (sorry Less Than Zero). As such, it’s only natural that White Noise should exist within the timeframe of the 1980s, when the American population naively assumed the information-action ratio couldn’t ever possibly get worse. Little did they know… The Internet.

    The eighties were also distinct in offering some of the first thoroughly modern instances of just how much technological “snafus” could wreak havoc on the average joe—and the environment (see: the Exxon Valdez oil spill). But more than that, there was an overall aura of contempt for authority spurred by decades of disappointment brought on by the perpetually lying U.S. government (a trend that persisted in the 80s with the Iran-Contra affair). Maybe that’s what stoked a brewing rage within the quiet and complacent. The American ilk that so love their car crashes because they just want to watch something burn, if not the world itself. This could be why Baumbach chooses to commence the film not with the scene of station wagons dropping their kids off at College-on-the-Hill, where Jack “J.A.K.” Gladney (Adam Driver) works as the chairman of the Department of Hitler Studies (this being a dig at the rise of “novelty academic intellectualism”), but rather, with a lecture from his colleague, Murray Siskind (Don Cheadle).

    Echoing the machine-fetishizing themes J. G. Ballard presented in Crash (another novel that’s become increasingly prophetic/relevant of late), Siskind tells his students, “Don’t think of a car crash in a movie as a ‘violent act.’ No, these collisions are part of a long tradition of American optimism. A reaffirmation of traditional beliefs and values… Think of these crashes like you would Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July. On these days, we don’t mourn the dead or rejoice in miracles. No, these are days of secular optimism. Of self-celebration. Each crash is meant to be better than the last.” As Siskind’s montage of ever-advancing and escalating car crashes is shown on a film reel to the class, Baumbach offers us a shot of a car exploding and its nuclear-esque mushroom cloud reflecting back in the glasses of a rapt student.

    This hard-on for watching crashes—a.k.a. the suffering and death of others—is part of a unique form of schadenfreude that only materialized in American culture with the dawning of the twenty-four-hour news cycle, itself a type of “white noise” after a while. Indeed, the reiteration of the distinct types of “postmodern” white noise are mentioned often in DeLillo’s novel, replete with phrases like, “There is an expressway beyond the backyard now, well below us, and at night as we settle into our brass bed the sparse traffic washes past, a remote and steady murmur around our sleep, as of dead souls babbling at the edge of a dream.”

    With all the noise and clamoring for attention brought on by media oversaturation and conspicuous consumerism, everything seems and sounds like “dead souls babbling at the edge of a dream.” And every “cataclysm”—rendered so meaningless from constant replays on TV—is reduced to mere “event.” Especially that of the environmental catastrophe variety. This being why, during the segment called “The Airborne Toxic Event,” Jack is quick to dismiss Babette and their children’s (most of whom are from Jack and Babette’s previous marriages) fears of what the “feathery plume”-turned-“black billowing cloud” might do to their well-being. To him, the thought of it actually affecting him and his family is so remote, he assures Babette, “These things [read: negative effects of chemicals wreaking environmental mayhem] happen to people who live in exposed areas. Society is set up, I mean sadly, in such a way that it’s the poor and uneducated who suffer the main impact of natural and man-made disasters.” “It is sad,” Babette replies in her obligatory white guilt manner. Jack adds, “Did you ever see a college professor rowing a boat down his own street in one of those TV floods?”

    Alas, even those formerly comforted by the theoretical cocoon of their white privilege, like the Gladneys, are slowly (oh so slowly) coming to grips with the reality that, since the continued use of 80s-era business and consumer practices, the environment has lately offered us nothing but the same energy we’ve been giving it for too long in return.

    So it is that the fear of death in the postmodern 80s (complete with “incidents” such as the Chernobyl disaster) has been compounded in the present by being among the first generations to see truly apocalyptic climate change phenomena signaling the potential extinction of humans. A double layer of fearing death. And yet, in the face of humans knowing that pretty much everything they do and love is a threat to the very environment that allows them to live, they still engage in the same behavior. Ergo, the simultaneous fear of death combined with constantly engaging in “death wish” activities centered around the American passion for chemical substances in everything they consume is the great dichotomy of the twentieth century, and now, the twenty-first.  

    Talking of consumerism (as one finds practically unavoidable whether discussing White Noise or not), the unspoken additional main character in White Noise is product placement itself (with DeLillo originally wanting to title his novel Panasonic—obviously, the corporation was not inclined to oblige). This is appropriate not only because DeLillo was a former copywriter, but because products are the “great cultural achievement” of the modern era. A reflection of all the choices we’ve been able to forge for ourselves only to become paralyzed by too much choice all signifying the same end. Coke, Cheerios, Frosted Flakes, Lucky Charms, Velveeta, Grey Poupon, Tide—everywhere the eye wanders during a scene of the film, there’s sure to be a recognizable brand. This, too, is the mark of our postmodern panic. Our disaffected dystopia. The fact that the things that consume us (under the pretense of us consuming them) exist in liminal non-spaces only adds to the overarching feeling of constant dread. As though we’ve fully realized how to make life as purgatory-esque as possible before that final step into the abyss. Another polite word for “death.”

    All lives must end and “all plots move deathward,” as Jack remarks to his class early on in the film, which is perhaps why the movie and the book meta-ly attempt to avoid full-tilt plot altogether. Hence, the “montage effect” of White Noise that became the norm with the dawning of the MTV generation. So fond of their “slick” edits and apropos-of-nothing jump cuts. Many likely wish that life itself could be experienced that way. That we could skip over the numerous (and primarily) mind-numbing parts just to feel slightly more alive. But without all that “filler” time (so much of which is occupied by waiting in lines—even online… just ask the Taylor Swift fans who tried to buy Eras Tour tickets), we would be edging closer and faster toward death. The “filler” portions of existence are what we’ve been conditioned to believe elongate the life experience—even if hours spent doing menial tasks like making money and then spending it on grocery shopping hardly equate to living.

    The supermarket as a purgatorial landscape outside of time and space was also something many were forced to reconcile with during the lockdowns of 2020, when the grocery store was the only “legal” outing permitted. Further emphasizing that the supermarket is where “life”—this modern non-life we’ve all agreed to—is at its most manifest. It provides everything one needs to live within the confines of the totally ersatz. Which is why it’s only right for White Noise to end at the giant A&P we’ve come to know so well over the course of the film, with Jack stating of it all, “I feel sad for us and the queer part we play in our own disasters. But out of some persistent sense of large-scale ruin, we keep inventing hope. And this is where we wait…together.”

    And with that, the consumers break out into a music video-worthy dance sequence to the tune of LCD Soundsystem’s “New Body Rhumba” (custom-made just for this movie). James Murphy, no stranger to lyrical depictions of existential dread, accordingly mirrors the increased sensation of anxiety and trepidation that arrives with middle-age by singing, “I need a new body, I need a new party/To represent my needs.” A younger body that might help evade the reaper for just a bit longer.

    The “new body” of the future, of course, could lie within the idea of “uploading consciousness.” As Grimes said, “Baby, you’re not even alive/If you’re not backed up on a drive.” In the meantime, there are plenty of products (and pharmaceuticals) to console you, to make you think you might somehow be delaying the bottom line. Shopping, after all, is a supposed means to avoid death. “Buy or die,” as the American-backed “philosophy” goes. Just as it was in the 80s, so it is now. Which is why it’s still easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • This Jeans Style Is Controversial, But I’ve Got the Pics That Prove It’s a “Yes”

    This Jeans Style Is Controversial, But I’ve Got the Pics That Prove It’s a “Yes”

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    Mom jeans have come a long way since they first earned that controversial moniker in the late ’80s and early ’90s. No longer the weekend mainstay of the era’s stereotypical image of the suburban housewife, the mom jeans of the 21st century can actually be quite chic. That is if you know how to style them. 

    While today’s mom jeans come in endless iterations, at their essence, each pair features a mid- to high-rise waist with straight legs that aren’t too snug and hit just at the ankle. Typically made of sturdier denim with a looser fit, mom jeans have limited stretch, so you may have to try on a few different brands before you find your perfect match. Basically, mom jeans are the antithesis of the low-rise bootcut and flare designs that were popular in the Y2K era. And, having lived through that once, we’re actually quite happy to embrace mom jeans as our endlessly wearable everyday pair. 

    So back to creating amazing outfits with mom jeans: If your immediate instinct is to pair an oversize sweatshirt with retro sneakers, then you may be veering a bit far into throwback territory. The mom jeans made today can easily be dressed up or down as needed. Thinking about what shoes to wear with mom jeans is key. For instance, the same pair of jeans could be worn with a blazer, T-shirt, shoes like slingback heels and chunky loafers or brightly colored accessories and a silk blouse or slouchy sweater.

    While a great-fitting pair of mom jeans is definitely a throw-on-and-go item, keep in mind that the key to styling any high-waist pants is to play with proportions. Mom jeans got a bad rap in the ’80s and ’90s, but let’s be honest: It was easy to see them as caricatures when worn by so many characters in iconic movies and television shows of the era. With that in mind, we’ve pulled 12 outfits with mom jeans that demonstrate how this storied denim style is anything but matronly. 

    Keep scrolling for major outfit inspo, and prepare to embrace the high-waist. 

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    Drew Elovitz

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  • Ferris Bueller’s Ferrari Auctioned for $337K, But It Doesn’t Work

    Ferris Bueller’s Ferrari Auctioned for $337K, But It Doesn’t Work

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    There’s a famous scene in the iconic 1986 film Ferris Bueller’s Day Off when his dad’s prized 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder accidentally crashes through a garage window and falls into the woods below.

    Photo by CBS via Getty Images

    That same car recently sold at an auction for $337,000, which seems like a steal since a 1961 California Spyder sells for millions.

    But here’s the catch—it wasn’t a Ferrari at all, but rather a 1985 “replicar” designed by Modena Design and Development.

    The crash car was one of three faux Ferraris built for the movie — albeit the most famous. While the red sportscar looks a lot like the original California Spyder, it doesn’t drive. Plus, the car is sort of a lemon — it was destroyed in the movie and then later rebuilt for sale. According to Motor Trend, the car has had several owners.

    Related: Ferrari Reveals Its First Four-Door Model. Just Don’t Call It This One Thing.

    The story of Ferris Bueller replicars

    As Hollywood legend has it, Ferris Bueller director John Hughes wanted the 1961 Ferrari to be one of the movie’s stars. But crashing a classic car out a window was just too expensive — even by movie studio standards.

    Hughes discovered Modena Design and Research, a new company that built Ferrari replicas. He commissioned three fake Ferraris in all for the movie. But the designs of the Ferraris were so accurate that Ferrari sued Modena Design and won a cease and desist order. The company went out of business in 1989.

    Related: This Baseball Card Just Sold for an Insane Amount of Money

    From 1985 to 1989, Modena made 50 Modena Spyders, and only 38 still exist.

    Watch the car crash scene from the movie below.

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    Jonathan Small

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  • It’s The End of the World As We Know It, And White Liberals Feel Like Shit: Armageddon Time

    It’s The End of the World As We Know It, And White Liberals Feel Like Shit: Armageddon Time

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    When one is a child, the world is seen at its clearest—its most straightforward. Because of their innocence and a lack of understanding the “need” to cater to artifice, it is the child who, so often, sees things as they are and for what they are. Paul Graff (Banks Repeta), the sixth-grader at the center of James Gray’s autobiographical coming-of-age story, Armageddon Time, is just such a kid. And what he sees all around him at his Queens public school in 1980 is discrimination. Specifically against a Black classmate he befriends named Johnny Davis (Jaylin Webb). Because Johnny’s already been held back a year, their teacher, Mr. Turkeltaub (Andrew Polk)—a last name that gets plenty of comedic mileage—is even more blatantly prone to not caring about his academic growth. Plus, he’s Black, so what does his education really matter, right? Paul himself is Jewish, susceptible to racial discrimination in his own right (cough, cough—Ye), but still somewhat relishes the perk of having white skin.

    This is why, when Paul draws a picture of Turkeltaub’s face atop a turkey’s body and is forced to confess to it, he doesn’t really get in all that much trouble. Yet when Johnny is forced to join in the same punishment of wiping the blackboard in front of the class while Turkeltaub continues to teach, he’s the one automatically blamed for making the other students laugh behind Turkeltaub’s back when it is, in fact, Paul who does a whimsical, mocking dance to make them do so. It is subtle “nuances” like these (what are known as “microaggressions” in the present), building up slowly and cringingly, that all add up to one big racist shitshow throughout the film (and, of course, in life).

    In the backdrop of it all, the presidential election is imminent, with Ronald Reagan campaigning openly as an “evangelical Christian”—at least, per the interview he gives to Jim Bakker, one that Gray opts to include at a moment when Paul’s family is watching TV. During it, Reagan ominously warns of how ceding leadership in the 80s to Democrats a.k.a. “non-Christians” will result in all hell breaking loose. Thus, his wielding of a favorite keyword when he tells Bakker, “If we let this be another Sodom and Gomorrah… we might be the generation that sees Armageddon.” Bakker couldn’t be more in agreement when he adds, “This is the most important election ever to face the United States.”

    And, at that time, it was. For it would change the entire trajectory of American values for good. Where there might have been a chance to decelerate the coveting of all things material, the unabashed worship of capitalism. As Jimmy Carter tried to do in his famed “Crisis of Confidence” speech in July of 1979. Months before what he said was apparently too much for White America to hear when it opted to shift toward the other side of the political spectrum entirely.

    All because Carter “dared” to say, “It’s clear that the true problems of our nation are much deeper, deeper, than gasoline lines or energy shortages. Deeper even than inflation or recession… Some people have wasted energy, but others haven’t had anything to waste.” This referring to the phenomenon so overtly presented in Armageddon Time—that those without privileges to begin with never notice much difference when it all goes to shit for “the elite” (which, obviously, it never really can—what’s losing a few hundred thousand to a millionaire, or a couple million to a billionaire?). Carter went on to gently chastise the nation for what it was solidifying into as he favored the “no candy for you” approach to speech-giving by declaring, “Too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. But we’ve discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning.”

    Evidently, though, owning and consuming things was satisfactory enough for Reagan supporters who then vindictively took America into what would become known as the Decade of Excess. At least for white yuppies. For average Americans, most especially the Black population, the system patently working against them would only worsen. Yet simultaneously be all the more accepted, especially by people like Paul’s family, who condemn it amid finding their own ways to profit from it.

    As Carter concluded the speech that would be too much for Americans who loved sugar-coating, it was plain to see that, like the Republicans and the evangelists they courted in the 1980 election, Carter believed, “We are at a turning point in our history.” An “Armageddon time,” if you will. Unlike the conservatives, however, Carter believed it was because “the path it leads to [is] fragmentation and self-interest. Down that road lies a mistaken idea of freedom. It is a certain route to failure.” And here America is some forty-three years later fulfilling Carter’s all too real prophecy. One that Gray himself is highly aware of, and is certain to make his viewers comprehend that part of why the nation is where it’s at today is because of the past. Appropriately, Paul’s beloved grandfather, Aaron (Anthony Hopkins), is the one to remind him that you should never forget your past, because it always ends up haunting you in the present. Which is precisely what has happened to the United States politically. Paying for the sins of the Reagan Era as it continues to embrace them. Including the election of Donald Trump in 2016.

    On that note, while the Trump family is not as central to the story as certain reviews might lead one to believe, Fred Trump’s (John Diehl) peripheral presence at the private school where Paul ends up is a key aspect to absorbing the hypocrisy of an institution that calls its attendees future “leaders” because of all the “hard work” they’re doing and the ambition they have. Ambition that wouldn’t mean anything without the very privilege of their backgrounds. And clearly, Fred’s looming presence over the school had a pronounced effect on Gray, who incorporates a scene of Paul’s first day of school being vaguely tainted by Fred homing in on him in the hallway. As Gray recalled, “Fred was on the board of trustees of the school, and he would sort of stand in the halls, his arms folded. I walked in with my attaché case and he saw me as weird immediately. He had prospective parents to show the school to, and here was the little Jew with the suitcase.”

    The private school in Armageddon Time is called Forest Manor, while the real-life one is Kew-Forest School. Where, needless to say, Donald Trump was also an attendee (until his father put him in a military academy at thirteen after he threw a desk in the middle of Jackie Robinson Parkway, called Interboro Parkway when Donald decided to tamper with it). So was his older sister, Maryanne Trump (portrayed briefly but effectively by Jessica Chastain). The alumna who shows up to give a speech about success to the current students, an event that Gray can confirm actually transpired while he was attending the school (basing Chastain’s monologue off of memory). And while Gray might not have fully grasped what was happening around him as a child, he did confirm, “I’ll tell you what was obvious to me at the time. When Maryanne Trump came to give a speech at school, I remember very clearly being like, ‘What the fuck? What is she talking about?’ Because I was like, ‘You’re really rich, lady. What’s the problem?’ I remember thinking that. The [old] joke, ‘born on third base and thinks he hit a triple.’”

    Paul’s reluctance to attend the same private school as his brother, Ted (Ryan Sell), is, in large part, because of how much he values his friendship with Johnny. Yet, at the same time, he doesn’t value it enough to stick up for Johnny when he’s flagrantly treated “lesser than.” Even by people of his own race. An instance that occurs when Paul and Johnny are on the subway together and the latter talks of going to Florida to become an astronaut as he looks at the space-oriented collectibles he received from his stepbrother who lives there. Overhearing the conversation, a Black passenger leaving the train feels the need to inform Johnny of his NASA ambitions, “The won’t even your Black ass in through the back door.” But maybe he was only trying to spare Johnny the later pain of indulging in a dream. Dreams that only white kids get to have. This extending to Paul’s desire to become an artist.

    Although “discouraged” by his parents, Esther (Anne Hathaway) and Irving (Jeremy Strong), Paul’s grandfather urges him to follow through with that dream, even buying him a professional paint set. By the same token, the burden of knowing that Paul’s still just another “Jew boy,” likely to be excluded once a certain “quota” is met, prompts Aaron to contradictorily advocate for Paul’s enrollment at Forest Manor. Especially after being caught smoking weed in the bathroom with Johnny, of whom Esther regards with ostensibly racist sentiments. Something Paul calls her out for. She, in turn, incites Irving to beat the shit out of him as punishment for his illegal activity.

    At the core of the “unpleasantness” of it all is the fact that white liberals are as guilty as any conservative for allowing systemic racism to thrive. Benefitting from the “getting ahead” advantages of that system themselves. As Gray puts it, “…you can be both the oppressor and oppressed at the same time.” Paul becomes more than just “faintly” cognizant of that when he’s put in a position that finds him facing the ultimate moral dilemma by the end of the movie. And maybe, in his mind, he wouldn’t have been faced with that dilemma if he had evaded the clutches of Forest Manor. The first day he’s made to attend, he seethes to his father, “You just want me to be like you.” Irving responds, “No, I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be so much better.” This is the very type of parental thinking that only perpetuates the system’s flourishment. For every generation of white liberals ends up succumbing to its seduction. The promise of, “Your kids can have what you never did. But you have to play the game.” And now, so do their children—permitting the cycle to persist.

    Somewhere between The Squid and the Whale and Triangle of Sadness, Armageddon Time is in the middle of the Venn diagram. With the former still being among the greatest New York-based coming-of-age films and the latter being a scathing diatribe on privilege. With Armageddon Time’s integration of race and the varying strata of whiteness that allows for “success,” it can readily be classified as a unique and vital addition to the coming-of-age canon.

    Moreover, it isn’t just Paul that comes of age (via a jaded comprehension of “how the world works”) by the end of the movie, but so does the America we know today. The one where “racism doesn’t exist” and “everyone is equal,” but the masses are tacitly attuned to the reality that it’s still a matter of working a broken and, yes, highly inequitable system if one wants to get that coveted “leg up.”

    Encapsulating the commingling of Paul’s coming of age with that of neoliberal capitalism’s in 1980s America, Gray noted, “You can’t monetize integrity, and it’s become a catastrophe, because you find that someone like Donald Trump is completely transactional, right? ‘What can you do for me? If you do this for me, I’ll do it for you.’ Everything’s about the brutality of the exchange of goods and services. At some point, life is more than that. And I saw this story as being representative of something bigger.” That it is, dear viewer, that it is.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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