Oh Liv

Gotta love the Lifeline Book Fair. Sometimes the endless rows of books – countless trashy forgotten works obscuring the occasional treasure - can be so overwhelming that I leave empty-handed and more than a little frustrated. But back in June I hit the nostalgic jackpot with a hidden chunky pile of 90s Rolling Stone mags – yesssssssss. Satisfaction.

I fully anticipated my amusement at the white boy homie fashion ads, and wasn't disappointed. 26 Red, anyone? Klue?

Oh yes, anyone over the age of 25 just admit that you had a phase. Admit it. Someone? Perhaps it was just me then. Well, for the benefit of the uninitiated, you got the tightest crop top possible and the baggiest lowest jeans imaginable and the stupidest bandanna in existence, and you paraded around Sunshine Plaza (or equivalent) in this ensemble trying (and failing) to intimidate the skegs (surf brand wearers) with your bad 12 yr old self. Wich yo baaaaaad self.

Hmmmm. I don't quite remember THIS on the Hot Tuna racks:

But frankly, let's be honest now, it's about on par with the young strapping lads of today insisting on persevering with this fluro shorts + slip-on loafers sans socks debacle. And even with the occasional questionable fashion moment there's something about these 90s mags that I appreciate, now more than ever. There's a rawness to them, less manicured, youth searching for identities rather than having just a few highly specific acceptable options shoved down your throat. Leo was the wonder-boy heartthrob (go Leo!). Anthony Kiedis was sex. Courtney Love made great music, and was known for that. Soul Asylum were self-indulgent wankers who, though at one time were insanely famous, left a pretty small mark in the end. So though I was fully expecting to be amused, I wasn't quite prepared for a slight niggling feeling of loss.

At what? Not sure really. I don't miss being a teenager. Maybe... being so enveloped by music. Being inspired by these magical girls. Looking forward to being... wanting to be... somebody. Not Somebody. Just somebody.

This girl, which I wasn't. THAT girl.

This girl, which I wasn't.

The cooler than cool grunge chick that no longer seemed to exist in society by this time I became... confident to be myself.

Liv. Dear god, at age 17. Was there ever ANYONE else so... disarming? Liv. Just about to be cast in Stealing Beauty. On the cusp of ridiculous beauty of her own.

A 90s moment remembered. I've struggled with the resurgence of 90s fashion, I guess mainly because the young girls today do it so much better than I ever did. Sexier, for a start. A little unauthentic perhaps, more mainstream, but still better. (maybe that's just what mainstream is: trend + sexy + unauthentic = mainstream). But Liv in this movie represents the best that 90s fashion ever was or ever will be. If I could recreate even half a percent of the magic she did, I might reconsider my stance on it. Might even try and bottle it.