If you've spent any amount of time on social media this year, you’ve likely seen the trend: “What were you like in the 90s?” A question that was primarily being posed to, and answered by, Gen X'ers, because let's face it, that was OUR era.
I spent my formative adult years in London in the '90s. I was in my twenties having just graduated from college. My first real jobs. My first time living with a boyfriend. Our first home ownership. My first deep friendships after school and college - friendships which I'm delighted to maintain to this day. My first real heartbreak. My first one-night-stand. (Don't judge me.)
The end of the '90s was also when I decided to hop off the island and head to the great land mass that is North America. And yet, there is definitely a part of me that still feels like a Londoner, and that young woman who had everything ahead of her, is still somewhere inside of me. Albeit covered in cobwebs.
Whenever I walk around my old haunts, especially in Soho and Covent Garden, which is where I worked hard and played harder, core memories come flooding back. And they are predominantly incredibly fun. I look back at that version of me with envy at her freedom and independence. She was not weighed down by the personal history and narratives that have since been woven over the last 28 years.
If I had a time machine, these would be the places I’d want to visit. Young, free and single. Those magical three words. In place of a Time Machine, let me transport you back to London in the mid-90's. A time when Blur, Oasis and The Verve were blaring out of radios. When London pubs started to get gentrified and packed to the rafters every Friday and Saturday night. Tony Blair was prime minister. Princess Diana was still alive and being pursued by the paparazzi. Rule Britannia wasn't just an anthem, it was a revival of British cool.
Without the always-on tech and mobile phones that we’ve come to rely on so heavily, there was a high degree of spontaneity and simultaneously, planning ahead. As a result, people were way less flaky. If you made a plan, it happened simply because you couldn’t easily reach someone to tell them you couldn’t be bothered.
Here's a handful of core memories:
The Boys, oh the Boys
- Running through a rainstorm with a handsome guy who had no interest in me other than occupying himself on a Friday night. And knowing the score, I was game.
- Inviting a guy I’d met in a pub the night before to my friend’s wedding reception which was taking place the next day. (I mean, really?!. But oh yes, I did.)
- Illicit, stolen lunch hours (and more) with someone I should have steered clear of, but fell for in a big way.
- Zipping around Notting Hill in my boyfriend’s Alfa Romeo Spider with the top down.
- Telling said boyfriend, who was impossible and in love with someone else, that I was going to the loo, then simply leaving the restaurant, walking down the street to a phone box (because… no cell phones) and calling my mum in tears saying I just didn’t know what to do. Of course, she told me to leave him. Of course, I didn’t... until months later.
- Hanging out in the Tearooms Des Artistes (a cool funky little club in Clapham) on the off-chance of bumping into the hot guy I’d met there the week before. Naturally, I didn’t have his number. This was a time before cell phones, email, social media, dating apps. There really was no way to track a person down aside from the good old fashioned method of staking out a joint.
A Quick Drink After Work
Quick drinks after work with the girls that turned into a long drinking session, followed by an expedition back to my flat in Clapham. Once there, despite it being 10.30pm we’d rustle up something to eat, say bolognaise sauce (aka ‘mince’) with bread.
Tennis at 10pm
Tennis doubles in Battersea Park and on Brook Green near Hammersmith. I remember having to ring up to book a court and you’d be lucky not to get a busy signal. Those games often didn’t start until 10pm, and on a school night!
Life Without GPS
We were also resourceful. Traveling across London by car typically meant pulling out the spiral-bound A-Z Map of London, driving with one hand while holding the map in the other, turning the pages and hoping that there weren’t any accidents or road closures. We got really good at memorizing routes, oh, and phone numbers.
Whenever I’m back home, I get asked the question: “Would you move back to England?” And I still don’t have a good answer. I know that there are so many things I’d love, and so many things that would drive me crazy, like the bureaucracy, inefficient systems, the length of time it takes to get a doctor’s appointment, or to buy a house (up to a year to deal with paperwork!).
I also have to come to terms with the fact that moving back to England wouldn’t entail picking up where I left off. That girl who ran through the rain with a good-looking friend with benefits? She’s not there anymore, and he’s probably lost his hair and has a paunch.
I guess for now, I’ll keep my treasure trove of memories, bring them out into the daylight from time to time, and keep investing in my long-distance friendships.
Maybe one day, I’ll be in a position to split my time between the UK and California in a sustainable way.