It was the 90’s, and we took photos like we were in ‘Interview’ magazine. In the attic of my childhood home, we survived the stultifyingly boring summer with photo shoots and lazy lounging while music played and someone made the two-flight trip down for more chips. We lived vicariously through videotapes, and magazines, and CDs – all relatively obsolete these days – and it was enough. We yearned and hoped and made ourselves into something better than we were before – with the sort of work and imagination that once was required. We tried harder then, back before such entertainments and passings of time came at the tap of a finger on a phone.
People could sit still then, and simply be. We talked. We engaged. We read and laughed and made the moment mean something. We didn’t shut down by shutting out the world outside of our ridiculous phone screen. Now I’m sounding old, when I enjoy the phone as much as the next person. Maybe I just miss those 90’s days, when life seemed simpler, the way it always does in our younger years.
