The Totally Rad Women of Generation X

We were the flower children. Our parents, born in the late 1950s, were the first generation of hippies. Our mothers wanted us to forego wearing bras, shaving our legs and underarms, and instead wear baggy jeans and comfortable sundresses. We were named things like Sunshine, Tulip, Saturday, and April. Our mothers were educated and they had careers. They instilled in us the ideals of hard work, but also taught us to reject authority, politics, and government. We were encouraged to be individuals; we were urged to discover our independence.

Our babysitters were often the television. Mister Rogers, Sesame Street, 1-2-3 Contact, and Conjunction Junction taught us how to count, to spell, to tie our shoes, and even how to speak our first Spanish word: "aqua". All of my girlfriends and I wanted to be Savannah, the title character from the movie Savannah Smiles. She was so pretty, fun, and even got to wear flowers in her hair. Plus, she didn't stand up to the bad guys; she instead made friends with them by flashing her winning smile and cute dimples. We would sit in our backyards and make daisy chains, wrapping them through our braided hair and dangling them like necklaces.

Beautiful, sexy Daisy Duke inspired our generation to run around in the shortest shorts we could find. We'd then grab our shirts by the bottom hem and pull them under, up, and through the neckline, making a nice little bow that encircled our barely developing chests. Our mothers were mortified. Sure, Daisy was essentially nothing more than the sex object on Dukes of Hazzard, but she signified to all of us young girls a message opposite of what our mothers were telling us: we could be sexy, smart, and domesticated at the same time. Daisy gave us our first taste of rebellion - and we liked it.

Much to our mothers' dismay, we religiously preened ourselves to be like these female television icons. We didn't want piano lessons, we wanted exciting hobbies like gymnastics, where we could learn to spin like Wonder Woman or flip through the air like Charlie's Angels. However, we also watched some of the contradictory media messages of that time, such as those in Three's Company and Laverne and Shirley. We were taught that if a girl wanted to be funny, she either had to be completely ditzy and brainless - think Chrissy of Three's Company - or instead had to use her humor to make fun of her not-so-pretty looks and clumsy demeanor like Laverne and Shirley. We learned that girls with less than perfect features should learn - and quick! - how to have a sense of humor, as that was the only way she would get a date for Friday night.

Enter the evening soap operas like Dallas and Dynasty. (Who did kill J.R., anyway?) Even though our generation was more interested in drooling over the likes of Michael J. Fox from Family Ties or Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains than Bobby Ewing or Magnum P.I., we learned that the women on those evening soaps were nasty, evil, and competitive. The more beautiful they were, the more money and status they received. The bitchier they were, the more the men would fawn all over them and do what they could to please them. We learned that manipulation was a good thing, especially if it got us our man.

Television of the 1980s and late 1970s further confused our feelings of self-worth. If we couldn't be pretty, then we better be smart like Carol from Growing Pains (who ironically as an adult developed a tragic problem with eating disorders) or funny like Darlene on Roseanne. Naturally, we learned to primp ourselves into perfection. We squeezed into Guess? jeans and tight-fitting Esprit tee-shirts. We wanted our hair done, makeup on, and our nails painted. We actually (God forbid) emulated music celebrities like Cyndi Lauper and Madonna, who showed us that bright pink and turquoise eye shadow could perfectly accentuate our features - and match our fluorescent leg warmers to boot. We wanted lace headbands and torn tank tops; we wanted tight-fitting leggings and bright colored high heels. We danced in our bedrooms, lip-synching to Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, and Pat Benatar. We blared New Kids on the Block, WHAM! and Rick Springfield, singing that yes, we do wear our sunglasses at night - aren't we awesome? Aren't we totally like-gag-me-with-a-pitchfork rad? We weren't only the world, we were the children.

The movies of the 1980s and early 1990s reiterated the media's idea of beauty. We'd dream of being Pretty in Pink like Molly Ringwald. Films such as The Breakfast Club, Top Gun, Footloose, Dirty Dancing, Back to the Future and Stand by Me showed us what it was like to be in a clique, to rebel against parents and society, to fantasize, and to grow up. The Brat Pack was a perfect example of high school socialization. The cool girls were the bad girls, separated into two categories: the cute, good one who got blamed for something bad but would never ever do it again and the bad girl who reveled in her rebellion, wore black, and had a sullen attitude and tortured demeanor. We learned that we had to choose between bad girl fun as one of the guys or good girl cuteness to get one of the guys.

And we mustn't forget Jennifer Grey's portrayal in the cult classic Dirty Dancing. Aptly named as "Baby," the lead character was daddy's little girl, the youngest of the two daughters and also the most naïve. But Baby soon learned to break free from patriarchal chains of oppression and enjoy life. She learned to dance; she learned to love. She started to wear tighter, more revealing clothes and effectively swiveled her hips. She discovered she was sexual, fun-loving, and creative. Most of all, she was happy. We would sit around with our girlfriends and watch the movie, singing along. "Sylvia? Yes, Mickey. How do you call your lover boy? Come here, lover boy! And if he doesn't answer? Oh, lover boy? And if he still doesn't answer? I simply say, Baby, Oh, Baby. . ." We pretended we were sexual, bad girls. But ultimately we learned - just like in so many other movies - that Baby's story ended once she found a man. She finally discovered the exhilarating rush of breaking free of one man (her father) and went rushing directly into the arms of her lover, where she would undoubtedly live happily ever after.

In the 1990s, there was a surge of roles emulating female independence. Shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer became all the rage and showed us that women really can have everything. Buffy became Generation Y's strong, capable, sexy version of Wonder Woman (minus the campy superhero outfit). She battled and killed vampires and solved crimes, all while taking care of her younger sister and helping her friends through their various love life crises. She was open-minded, accepted everyone, and her best friend was even a lesbian.

The 1990s also brought about a new kind of rebellion. We were tossing away our rock and roll records and delving into something entirely new and exciting: rap and hip hop CD's. Vanilla Ice, Dr. Dre, and Snoop Dogg were our idols. We sang along with lyrics that told us that girls were nothing but "bitches and hos" and guys were nothing more than "players, pimps, and hustlers". We believed every minute of it. We actually enjoyed it when our boyfriends called us bitches and hos, almost as much as they liked being referred to as pimps and hustlers. Sex became a game - the more the merrier - just one more notch on the bedpost for both the guys and girls. After all, we were all simply hos and pimps, singing along with rap tunes as boy's clothing got bigger and bigger and girls' clothing got tighter and tighter. It was actually exhilarating for us girls to have such power, to use plenty of expletives to dominate our men and grow our nails long and paint them bright red. We were bad asses; there was no messing with us.

Yes, we were our mothers' flower girls. But we were also Madonna's material girls and Janet's nasty girls. We were the generation of spandex and leg warmers; lace shirts and push-up bras; tight jeans and big hairstyles. We, in our monogrammed Members Only jackets and pink legwarmers knew that "Girls Just Want to Have Fun." We were "Footloose" and "Walkin' on Sunshine." And you better believe that we were "Oh, oh, oh, oh oh - Hangin' Tough."

We were labeled Generation X. And even though we were never really quite sure what that meant, we like it. It gives us an identity. It puts a name to our collective uniqueness mixed with flavors of Wonder Woman, Madonna, The Brat Pack, and Buffy. And you know something? Despite all of the beauty queens and fashion magazines, Generation X is still kicking ass and taking names.

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