Maybe we should first define what “best” means. When I think of 80s music, I think of silliness. I think of non-political rantings from flamboyantly clothed individuals. Besides buying their albums, the main idea was to get the masses to get up and dance. We really didn’t have names for the dances that we did, because we danced the same to every song.
The girls’ hair was lovingly referred to as “bangs to heaven,” due to the fact that, well, their bangs were hair-sprayed so tall that they literally had a chance at communicating with the upper-netherworld. And the guy’s hair was not too far off either. My hair parted in the middle and impressively feathered down the sides of my head. There were a number of variants, but the basic feathering was a rudimentary starting point.
Our clothing was simple. For the most part, it was button-fly Levi 501 jeans. It didn’t matter what shirt you wore with them, the key was the ‘501’ jeans.
The car of the time was the Camaro or the Trans-Am. It’s not what I drove, but the ‘cool kids’ in school somehow acquired these rides. Me? I had an old 1968 Ford, short-box pickup truck that guzzled a quart of oil with every gas fill up and was about four different colors (predominantly red, I think). I had a cassette deck that was usually thumping out the tribal beats of Adam Ant. Life was good.
I look back at the 80s as a simpler time. Not just because it was my teenage years. I look back at it with great fondness because of the simplicity. From Culture Club to Def Leppard. Music on MTV (when MTV was about music). Grab a pair of my 501 jeans off the floor, toss them in the dryer to tighten them up, and hope that I have a shirt hanging in the closet. Make sure that my hair was perfectly parted down the middle, the feathering falling into place with each swipe of the brush.
Simpler times. Or was it just the fact that the 80s owned my teenage years? Probably a bit of both. Either way, I will happily follow as I’m called to “Come on Eileen.”
Originally published at Man Ramblings.