Common Goods: Senior Year, 1988.

In the old days, when people actually developed photos and picked them up from the store in paper envelopes and flipped through them in the halls of school or on a bus or anywhere public, I was the one craning my neck to see their shots. Rude as it may have been, sneaking peeks of peoples' captured moments was a favorite past time. Now, I don't have to crane, I can just click. Flickr is overflowing with candids from peoples' collections of old snapshots. Here's a selection of shots labeled Senior Year 1988. Hello hairspray.

Pre-digital photos were the definition of candid. Closed eyes, gum chewing, awkward poses, someone's not looking. That would never happen now. Not in the instant view era. Something is lost and something is gained, I guess. I just have a soft spot for the old ones. I miss the feel of glossy photo paper on my fingertips, but I love the glow of a screen.

Oh Make Me Over: She's Out Of Control

There is nothing quite like the cinematic trope of the high-speed '80s/early '90s makeover. The sheer dizziness of the quick change from bespectacled, orthadontured, frizzy-haired, awkward teen to beauty queen with eyeliner is one of the most nostalgically pleasing reminders of movies past. There are so many scenes of transformation, so many examples of this fantasy in film, that I'm dedicating a new feature to the subject. No matter that the whole construct reinforced every sorry idea I ever learned about what would solve my bad self-image (A new dress? A manicure? No, no, no, I know--a perm and braces!) a good makeover is still some of the most fun to be had as a film watcher.

First up? A classic, yet surprisingly under-acknowledged member of the makeover sequence club; the five minutes of film in which Tony Danza goes from being The Boss of a dorky girl to the terrified protector of a hot, young thing from 1989's She's Out of Control. Watch below as Katie Simpson (Ami Dolenz) gets all polished up and done over.



I love that the realities of her braces are foregone so that she can get a date. Screw the thousands! This girl needs to look good in her hot pink lipstick! Love it. So much.

I've Got That Boom Boombox Bag.

I'm in love with my new found go-to happy doc for bad day brightening. It's Style Wars, the late 70s/early 80s PBS documentary that got the word out on writers, b-boys, bombers, and rappers before they were mainstream. It shined a flashlight on the urban art of graffiti that either adorned or debased the MTA's fleet of 70s subway cars in NYC depending on whether you asked the bombers or Mayor Ed Koch. The doc is pure pleasure stocked with characters quirky and confident enough only to be found in real life, and it makes me crave early 80s gear, like a boom box and a Sugarhill Gang cassette. I know, I know; I'm a white girl from the 'burbs who missed the height of hip hop by a few years, but I can still appreciate its flavor. I'll rock the boombox bag I saw in the window of the ICP shop (pictured above) instead of embarrassing all of humanity by pumping up the volume on an actual handle toted ghetto blaster. You want to watch what's got me so excited? Start with this:



Parts two through eight are all on Youtube.

Remember That?: Gently, With a Chainsaw.

I kind of want to dress like this. I kind of want the whole world to dress like this.

Click above to watch the Heathers in sweet, nostalgic, '80s-decked action. It's amazing.

Minimus Maximus

Here are some laws of physics, nature, what have you: "every action has an equal and opposite reaction," "every expansion yields a contraction." These axioms came to mind when I saw Marc Jacobs's collection for Fall 2009. Jacobs is the kind of designer that runs when others walk, that goes up when others are down, and who feigns the "eff-its" when everyone else is holding on tight. Sometimes, like last season, his non-conformist tendencies make him a hero of mold-breaking, and give him the bright, hotspot among the same-same shows that roll out one after another.

When done right, his sense of adventure, his bucking of the trend actually creates the trend, and plays with ideas to make something new. But, sometimes he reverts to simple rebellion. His latest collection seems an obvious Jacobsism: go for more when everyone is talking about less. Yes, it grabs attention and keeps his brand in the spotlight, creating ample PR opportunities, and an abundance of links to stories on the recession. But, I just have to ask, does the world really need another version of the '80s prom dress? I agree that the idea of this economic downturn is tiresome, but I'd prefer a protest with new ways of thinking, looking, acting, feeling. Opening the attic doors of the '80s and it's maximalism with maybe a tad more shine and a twist of the '60s is not brilliant, it's done. It's true, I have incredibly high standards for Mr. Jacobs, but this collection is what Ms. Job, my quirky-yet-wise 9th grade English teacher, would have called an "I GO," or in layman's terms: an Instant Grasp of the Obvious. Even though Ms. Job had very questionable taste in ensembles (where do teachers get that gear?), I think she would agree with this assessment. Here are some images of the '80s rehash:

I smell Electric Youth sprayed on A Flock of Seagulls.

Photos by Marcio Madeira for Style.com.

One/One-Thousand: Guy Bourdin

Guy Bourdin's signature oversexed, darkness-tinged, ironic, glossy style is pure eye candy for the slightly devious soul. His post-'70s/pre-'80s work was the bridge from one decade of decadence to another. I've always loved his boldness and his bluntly sexual, slyly violent imagery, but with a fresh set of eyes his work looks like the next big thing again.
















All the makeup, the big hair, and the maximalism look like things to aspire to in these lean (and getting leaner) times. Suddenly I completely understand the '80s: Bigger, more, better, now.

All images are copyright Guy Bourdin and can be seen at www.guybourdin.org.