In particular, the teenaged mind, with its immature prefrontal cortex constantly looks for help from others for the purpose of problem solving. Those "others" are like trusted independent consultants of life, with specialties in decision making. The teenaged mind is just trying to figure out where he or she would best be served traveling down the road to adulthood.
Some teens I knew were remarkably one track minded, solid and level headed. Others I knew made horrible decisions. Several wore one personality until a new independent consultant of life (a friend, teacher, literary hero or, perhaps, relative) made enough of an impression for that teen to warp and change to another personality, seemingly more suitable for that time being. Facades were normal and posers were everywhere. No one seemed to disparage the posers, though, as they just seemed a regular and routine part of our adolescent realm. In fact, I sort of dug the shape-shifters because they were acting out different parts of who they (maybe?) were, or hoped to be, without fear and without shyness.
Some teenagers got help from their parents and siblings in their quests to find themselves. Some teenagers were born knowing where their future, usually rock solid and legacied, would lead...you know, Dad went to Cornell so I will too, etc. I was not one of those teens.
I didn't want to bother my parents since they were engrossed in figuring out their own shit in the middle of their divorce. I have no siblings. My friends were not the kind of friends who discussed heavy "Who am I?" types of subjects. We were about good times and boys; we were about makeup, and sleepovers and scary movies and pizza and MTV. So I, probably like a lot of other teens in the 80s, looked to popular movies to help me potentially clarify a lot of things that were bothering me about my life and where it was heading.
I found that with the brat pack movies, it was quite easy to identify with at least one character per film. I paid attention to the lessons that John Hughes and other teen movie directors were trying to convey. Perhaps too seriously, I started taking notes about whom I was most like and subsequently what type of future I was looking at.
In Sixteen Candles, I related a little to Randy. Randy was Molly Ringwald's sidekick. She had some funny one liners that I tossed about, like, "I'd shit twice and die". Not terribly deep, she was cute, loyal, fun and readily helped her friend when the geeks were paying to see underwear displayed in the boys room. In Pretty in Pink I felt most like Iona. She owned her own record store and dressed in crazy fashions purely for sport. In one hilarious scene she pegs a youthful shoplifter with a single shot from her staple gun and at another moment she lovingly bequeaths Andie her funky 1966 prom dress while reminiscing to the Association song "Cherish".
The one flick I had a very hard time figuring out was St. Elmo's Fire.
I had a hard time because I saw some of myself in Jules but what I really wanted was to be Wendy.
Jules was a loud, colorful, hard partying, reckless spending, insanely troubled character completely at odds with her stepmother; whereas Wendy was sweet, with a sensible hair cut, an unflappable blue-blooded family, a big heart, and a gorgeous colonial estate. She was employed in a helping profession and had everyone's best interests at heart, all the while nursing a mostly unrequited crush on Billy, the bad boy of the film. She spoke her mind, albeit in a very poised way, and kept trying to better herself without anyone's help. She rode in the back of the jeep but was an unmistakably integral part of the crowd.
My personal clothing at the time of the movie's release was an almost identical copy of what Jules donned throughout the film. She had long brown crimped hair atop a hot pink quilted motorcycle jacket. In scene after scene she wore heels and oversized blazers with ripped leggings. I'm pretty sure she wore the same color lipstick as me and my friends. I decided, after watching the movie twice and being completely freaked out by the scenes where Demi Moore, as Jules, attempts to either score cocaine or freeze herself to death in her over-budgeted, under-afforded, with Billy Idol painted on the wall apartment, to start dressing more like Wendy, thinking that maybe a deliberate change in wardrobe was a solid first step to a better future.
Thumbing through some catalogs, I ordered what I thought looked like the same exact pink sweater Mare Winningham (as Wendy) wore throughout the film; a puffy sleeved angora confection that smacked of good breeding and sensitivity and would most certainly require regular dry cleaning. I had some money from working after school, so I also bought a knee length, non body-conscious white shaker knit sweater dress; a long sleeved cream colored puff shouldered lace blouse; fake pearl strands in white and light pink that I could knot and fiddle with in a plutocratic way; two black velvet headbands, one thin and one thick; an expensive mauve cardigan embroidered with cabbage roses; and flat shoes in colors to accentuate my new and proper style of dress. My Moo Moo bought me a beautiful black and white herringbone tweed ankle length winter coat for my birthday with a soft ebony velvet collar. It had a gold chain tucked under the tag with which to hang it. It was cultured, pretty, and dignified...like me!
I suppose the wardrobe worked, for a while. I changed my preferred nail polish from a Woolworth bargain bin color that was mostly gray but somewhat glittery to a more costly pearled mulberry shade. I took my studies very seriously. I donned ecru lace tights at all times even when wearing jeans (and posh pink suede flats). I applied to and was accepted at a Catholic college. I tossed away my drink coaster sized neon hoop earrings and put in dainty sterling silver apples.
Less partying led to hanging out with a new boyfriend, and his dear mother Marylou, who tried teaching me practical lessons for being a good wife despite the fact that I was only 16. The new beau went to a neighboring school district and had no idea that a month ago I had been crawling on my hands and knees at a shindig in the woods voluntarily searching for my friend's prized Zippo lighter. All he knew was that I was now all velvet and lace, engaged in familial grocery shopping and helping to scrub grease off the kitchen soffit after frying chicken with Marylou. It was an interesting time of transition.
I gained a little weight during this time, because I had gone from never really relaxing to a more sedentary style of life. There were movie rentals on the weekends, hearty stews, and what seemed like continual cookie baking. Marylou, who took me skirt shopping one afternoon, saw my figure and suggested that maybe it was time for a "nice foundation garment". Immediately my mind shot to "Scuba suit!" which is what bad boy Billy calls Wendy's girdle in St. Elmo's Fire. She had briefly worked in the lingerie apparel business so I suppose foundation garments were on Marylou's mind a bit more than the average person's but honestly, I wasn't sure whether to be thrilled (I AM Wendy!) or concerned (I am WENDY.).
A lot of questions came rushing in. Who am I now? I don't recognize my body. Where am I? I don't recognize all of this downtime and the activities in which I am engaging. What have I done? I surely don't recognize my hair (which I had professionally chopped, from below the shoulders wild child ringlets to a chin length style that I can only describe as a wet short curly mullet). I began watching myself from outside of my body. Constantly nervous, I was unmoored for the last 6 months of high school.
After a year and a half of trying hard to achieve a Wendy-esque persona, I set off for that Catholic college and the very first day, started becoming my true self again. I put up my Neil Young poster above my bed. I played my music so loud I got issued a warning. I flipped my head over and sprayed the underside of my hair for a good 60 seconds. I let out an audible sigh that had been quashed in the deepest parts of my insides for months.
During my first week I wore green hospital scrub bottoms, a Cherry Garcia Ben and Jerry's tie dye, shredded jeans and a camouflage jacket. I pulled out my Hind running tights and wore them every night after dinner, sprinting through the streets of Albany with whomever expressed an interest. The boyfriend, attending a college only a few miles down the road from me during that first month of school was befuddled. He asked, "Who are you?" and I happily admitted, "Well this is actually more of the real me." He was headed toward a career in politics and I was headed to a double major's worth of classes; to concerts and keggers and two part time jobs so that I didn't have to sit down, ever again. We ended our relationship, but not before he bought me a pair of fuzzy yellow ducky slippers for my 18th birthday. I took their obvious incongruousness as a sign that I was dead on in my decision to step away from my pretend world of Wendy.
People in my dormitory who had known me for less than 5 weeks bought me on the button birthday presents: the new Def Leppard CD; a pair of earrings in the shape of tribal masks; the strongest, smelliest hairspray available; and a beer pitcher stolen as a joke from a local bar.
I was more Jules than Wendy, and that didn't make me a bad person or a person whose future was at risk based on a movie and some strange similarities. I deliberately came to terms with myself, drumming up love and acceptance and suspending judgement. I also knew that even with drama in my life I would never end up freezing, waiting to be rescued like Demi Moore.
Regrettably, I went through a personal crisis of this type again about 5 years later when I was at another crossroads in life, both relationally and career wise. I literally resurrected the pink cardigan and went back to being Wendy for about 4 years (complete with a Stewie Newman type boyfriend) but then, as it happens, I couldn't play-act any longer and like a meteor crashing into the atmosphere, I became more like Jules again. Because Jules is fun loving and she is a risk taker and she dances and sings and drives with the top down and a bright red scarf blowing in the breeze. She's actually pretty vulnerable, too.
Fast forward 25 years later...I am very comfortable being myself, which I suppose is a healthy hybrid of both Jules and Wendy. I am still trying to do some rocking out and I am minorly, though appropriately, troubled whilst doing my best to helping the less fortunate. I go where my big heart tells me and I work to beautify my colonial estate. I also have a bad boy Billy. He does not play the saxophone but he spends what I feel is an inordinate amount of time on the roof.
And, I do not wear a scuba suit, though I probably totally should.
#1980s #stelmosfire #saintelmo #demimoore #marewinningham #sixteencandles #prettyinpink #mushroomtumbler
