Can I Get a When When?

Not so long ago, while reveling in the past, Macarena-style, at PfoHo’s ’90s dance, I found myself forced to contemplate an ominously unclear future.

A decade from now, when the freshmen in the class of 2018 are rifling through closets for their ’00s gear to hit up an ’00s dance and groove to sweet rhythms from the ’00s, what will they be wearing? What music will they be listening to? What pop culture events will be jokingly referenced? Name one. Quick. No, Monica Lewinsky was in the ’90s. Our decade lacks the definition of the counterculture, the Disco Era, the ’80s (need I elaborate?), and the 10 years of grunge rock and boy bands. Are we in the process of becoming the next lost generation?

We are the children of the baby boomers. The grandchildren of the Great Generation. The great-grandchildren of the—um—parents of the Great Generation. We are the generation after Generations X and Y, respectively. But without these qualifiers, we are nothing. We have no name for our team, and without a given moniker, how are we supposed to unite 20 years from now and reminisce about the good old days? For the sake of a name, how about we call ourselves the Dolphins? That is a truly uplifting appellation, and easy to put on a t-shirt.

While our generation wanders blindly without a name tag, an entire decade has yet to be christened. Once upon a time, my mother would say, “Aliza, what is this Spice Girls nonsense that you are listening to?”

Without missing a beat, I could retort, “Come on, Mom, this is the ’90s!” What can the little kids say now when their disturbed parents question the value of 50 Cent? “Seriously Dad, this is the ‘ohs’?” “Get with the ‘naughts’?” “For the love of God, we’re in the ‘ohzies’?” (Actually, there really is no excuse for listening to 50 Cent, in any decade.)

This is not be the first time that the ’00s have left a whole decade unbranded. Can you name any significant happening of the 1900s? Preceded by The Gay ’90s (1890s), this period has merely been relegated to the ‘turn of the century,’ and it took about two decades for the 1900s to even eek out a decadent roar. Perhaps at the beginning of each century, society must regroup and start back at 00.

When the class of 2018—now busily studying for their P P PSATS—goes to their ‘00s dance, there will be only one safe solution. Go as Michael Jackson. He makes a comeback every decade.

Aliza H. Aufrichtig ’08, a Crimson editorial comper, lives in Canaday Hall.