The 1990s are experiencing a revival that brings back glittering pop memories from our youth. But I’m also reminded of what I’ve lost, what I failed to value, and the bittersweet taste of nostalgia mixes with self-loathing.
During the latter half of the 1990s, I was a devout Spice Girls fan. The Spice Girls were also a recurring theme in the games I played with my friends in elementary school. With my long blonde hair, I was designated the role of Baby Spice. None of my friends wanted to be Posh Spice. Instead, we had a double dose of Ginger Spice. Accuracy wasn’t important, nor was it relevant whether we had any dance or singing skills.
Before long, the British pop phenomenon would also lose its relevance. They maintained their captivating allure for the few years following their debut in 1994. The pivotal moment came in 1998, when Geri Halliwell dramatically and abruptly left the group.
Ginger Spice vanished, and so did the 90s. With the new millennium, the demand for bubblegum pop and dancing pop groups began to decline. As we left the best century behind in terms of musical innovation and style, the Spice Girls also imploded.
A few years later, I moved to my first apartment. However, my once beloved photo album filled with Spice Girls collectible photos didn’t come with me.
They were deemed clutter, left behind alongside other childhood relics.
These collectibles were sold in packs of ten. It wasn’t uncommon to get duplicates, or to have the misfortune of pulling one of the considered less appealing photos from the small plastic pouch. In such cases, one had to negotiate hard in the schoolyard to trade them for something better. As a child, I spent countless hours rearranging my collection album and gazing in awe at the cool, glossy world captured in these photographs. A world that seemed almost unattainable, yet brought so much joy just to behold.
Many years later, as my mother was decluttering, she asked if I wanted to keep any of the items still residing on the shelves in the small hallway closet just outside the door to the room where I grew up. A space I had once filled with cherished possessions. “There are a few tins with things in them, some albums with pictures, and your bookmarks. You’d want to keep the bookmarks?” she asked. “Yes, I’ll keep the bookmarks,” I replied, and told her she could throw away the rest, well aware that my Spice Girls album was in there. “I don’t need it,” I replied, without much consideration. I tapped the red hang-up button on my phone’s display and put it out of my mind.
Jump ahead to 2023, and we’re submerged in a tidal wave of 90s nostalgia on social media.
Everything we had forgotten we loved is suddenly back.
And I can’t stop scrolling. This is content I can agree to let burn holes in both retinas and brain matter. The endless scrolling function can finally feel like it’s contributing something other than existential crisis and wasted time.
Spice Girls, like many other 90s icons, are experiencing a renaissance. Admittedly, I find it hard to determine whether it’s the millennials themselves reclaiming online space, or if it’s the younger generation recognizing the greatness of the 90s. (The given explanation that trends cycle and the 90s are to Gen Z what the 70s were to us, and thus are timely for their vintage revival, I can’t allow myself to fully accept, so we’ll just leave that in the pile of other weighty realities.)
As delightful as the 90s revival may be, anxiety grips my heart when clips from the 1996 music video for ‘Say You’ll Be There’ appear on my Instagram explorer page. That was the musicvideo from which the finest collectible pictures came. And I had them all. Had. A word that, in this context, feels like opening a can of fermented herring. Why. Why did I do this.
I am reminded of all the little things that once meant something but are no longer here. I wish I had kept all my OKEJ-magazines, CDs, glass marbles, scented erasers, and plastic pacifiers. My 20-year-old self completely failed to see the significance of what I valued as a child. My conscious disposal of my beloved Spice Girls collectible photos makes me hate myself almost as much as the fact that I managed to lose my entire My Little Pony collection. But that’s a dark tale for another day.