In ninth grade I was in a production of Bye Bye Birdie and I was particularly
proud of the fact that the Pendleton plaid skirt I was wearing was my mother’s, a skirt she’d actually worn in the Fifties, and as I waited on the front steps, waited for her to take me to Opening Night, I thought:
What are people going to be wearing twenty years from now at 80s parties?
Pinstripe jeans, maybe. That’s as far as I got. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to dress like me.