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The Guardian
2 hours ago
- The Guardian
Blockbuster, board games and boredom: why everyone's parenting like it's 1999
When I look back on my 1990s childhood, it's hard not to feel nostalgic. We roamed for miles without supervision, riding our bikes, building dens and swimming in streams. After school, we did crafts or played board games and, though the internet existed, my parents would boot me off to use the landline. Media was tangible – tapes, CDs, VHS – and often consumed as a family. I still recall the thrill of going to the video shop to choose a film. It's normal to feel like this, especially once you have babies of your own, and the social media algorithms know it. In the three years since I had my son and started writing the Guardian's Republic of Parenthood column, I've noticed a huge upswing of interest in '90s parenting' and, this year, the trend seems to have exploded. Former 90s kids are in the thick of it, trying to work out how to parent our own children. There's a feeling that huge advances in technology have resulted in a commensurate loss. But what of? Is it possible to get it back? And was parenting really better back then? 'Yes. Full stop,' says Justin Flom, a father of two and content creator based in Las Vegas, who built a replica Blockbuster video store for his daughters in one of the rooms of his house. 'The whole family would pile into the car, head to the video store and roam the aisles while deciding what to watch,' he says of his own childhood. 'It felt exciting, full of possibility. Scrolling online just isn't the same.' There's something about going to a physical place to choose a film together, as well as the anticipation and the delayed gratification when finally watching, that made it feel like an event. 'Everyone remembers that blue and yellow sign, the carpet, the ritual of choosing a movie together.' Not everyone has the space or the budget to do what Justin has, but the reasoning underpinning his decision would be familiar to many. 'As a parent, I'm constantly guarding my children against content I don't think is good for their brains,' he says. 'We prefer older movies and shows, partly because I think the pacing is healthier. They're not as chaotic or overstimulating.' His girls love the Home Alone movies, Harriet the Spy and Dennis the Menace, and their current favourite is George of the Jungle. Like Justin, I have been drawn towards 1990s media for my son. Current favourites are Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin and Teletubbies, which were both made in 1997 and are a welcome contrast to the frenetic speed of more modern shows. Justin's Blockbuster room is a way of making screen time intentional, and that seems to be at the heart of this idea of 90s parenting. 'In the 90s, the critique was that TV would rot your brain, but it was stationary,' he says. 'It lived in your living room. Now, media follows us everywhere. It's in our pockets, on demand, nonstop. In my house, we work hard to compartmentalise media. It happens at a specific time and in a specific place. That's part of what made Blockbuster special: it was a destination.' With increasing fears about the effects of screen time, and parent-led campaigns such as Smartphone Free Childhood gaining popularity, it's no surprise so many of us are looking back to the era just before they exploded. Some parents – and schools – are even giving their children landlines. A group of parents in South Portland in the US has done it so their kids can call each other, creating a 'retro bubble' of resistance against screens. Scrolling through 90s parenting-themed reels on Instagram (I'm aware of the irony), I'm struck by a video of a group of adults and kids having a back garden water fight (organised via landline, of course), having put all their smartphones in a bowl on top of a high cupboard. It takes me back to a time when we weren't stuck behind screens and our summers often saw all the neighbourhood kids engaged in huge water fights. It was when the mums joined in – coming out with a bucket or washing up bowl so you knew they meant business – that you'd get really excited. Jess Russell is a big believer in the importance of play. A former primary school teacher and special needs coordinator, Jess is now a stay-at-home mum to two children, aged one and three, and uses her Instagram account @playideasforlittles to campaign for more learning through play in the curriculum. 'I grew up in the countryside, and we were outside all the time. My mum was a stay-at-home mum. We'd do lots of arts and crafts at home,' she says. She's trying to replicate this with her own children by giving them a slower pace of life, with lots of time in the garden and playing board games such as Hungry Hungry Hippos, and only watching TV as a family. One of the reasons Jess left teaching was because she was disillusioned by the direction of education, away from play-based fun towards a more results-driven system. She feels lucky to be able to stay at home to look after her children – which was far more common in the 90s, when you didn't always need two incomes to cover housing costs. I feel the same about working part-time, and wonder if 90s nostalgia is partly to do with modern parents having to work all hours to keep their heads above water, when they'd like more time with their kids and for it to be playful. It's not just about screens, I realise, it's about connection, family time and, actually, time more generally. 'Parenting in the 90s was basically just 'slow' parenting,' says Jess. That means not ferrying kids from activity to activity so days are jam-packed. Boredom is important, says Melanie Murphy, a mother of two from Dublin, who describes herself as 'your nostalgic millennial mum friend' on Instagram. 'Long stretches of unremarkable time were a gift I didn't know I'd miss, and I want that for my kids. I don't want to schedule every hour of their lives. I don't want their lives to go by while their eyes are fixed on a device inches from their faces.' It is when her children, aged two and four, are bored, says Melanie, that their imaginations really take over. 'They'll build forts, the floor will be lava, underneath the table will become a dragon's den. We go outside in old clothes and get filthy looking for bugs. They'll 'help me' cook the dinner and clean the house … We play music and have dance parties. We watch my old DVDs on a projector. We colour and paint for hours and read lots of books. Treasure hunts, picnics, making a mess, simple conversations. My husband and I have pulled back on structured activities, adult-led plans and screen time, and as a result our house constantly looks like a bomb has dropped, but the kids are happy so we don't care.' No doubt some 90s kids will laugh bitterly reading that. One funny video about 90s childhoods describes them as following your mum around changing rooms and having your hair cut in the kitchen, both experiences I can identify with. When I ask a friend if she mothers like a 90s parent, or knows anyone who does, she replies: 'Hmmm … as in sleep training, lots of TV and Crispy Pancakes?' She has a point. Every 90s parenting proponent I speak to, though, is well aware of the danger of rose‑tinted spectacles (round ones with wire frames, naturally). I ask Melanie which aspects of the 90s she might want to leave in the past. 'The physical discipline. Being taught to 'toughen up' instead of allowing emotions to pass through the body as they're meant to,' she says, also citing sleep training and the 'naughty step'. The list goes on: 'Secondhand smoke everywhere. The neglect of mental health … Gender stereotyping was off the charts, so was diet culture and UPF (ultra-processed foods) culture.' Her mum was in WeightWatchers, and Melanie used to binge on Pop-Tarts, then try to 'undo' the snacks with sit-ups. That can all stay in the past. She also points out not all families were watching films together. In some, there was 'little to no supervision of media consumption' and the children would see some incredibly inappropriate and traumatic content. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion Sometimes, the laissez-faire nature of 90s parenting could stray into neglect. In my own case, though, I look back wistfully on how 'free range' I was as a child. Justin's experience was similar. 'My parents didn't always know where I was and that was OK,' he says. 'I got hurt sometimes. Kids used to break their arms sometimes. And then we learned not to do the thing that broke our arm.' (I did indeed break my arm.) 'That kind of risk-taking is important. It's how kids learn judgment. These days, we bubble-wrap childhood so tightly that we're taking those lessons away,' he says. There has been too much of an overcorrection, he thinks, and people 'are longing for something a little looser, a little more analogue. Parenting that's not ruled by fear.' In other words, we are looking to redress the balance. 'We know so much more now – about emotions, neurodiversity, safeguarding, food – and that's obviously a good thing,' says Melanie. 'What I long for isn't a time machine, but a nice blend: the laid-back spirit of 90s parenting with the emotional awareness and knowledge we have today.' I thought it was worth talking to someone who actually was a parent in the 90s about it, so Jess put me in touch with her mum, Lynn. 'I had precious time with my children and I really value that,' she says of their long days spent outdoors, at home or with friends. She points out that shops used to be closed on a Sunday, and the simple joy of that being a day for family. 'Today's parents are craving that simplicity in family time. 'We lived in a two-bedroom house, and I had a rubbish car … Now people feel as if they have to sustain this standard of living. I feel really sorry for them, because there's just too much pressure.' I ask Lynn if there is anything that is better now, and she struggles to think of anything. 'I really admire mums nowadays because you're balancing so much. I just didn't have that. It was really quite straightforward.' I'll confess that when I first encountered the concept of 90s parenting, I thought it was a bit of a sentimental gimmick, driven by ageing millennials in thrall to social media algorithms. But if that is the case then why, writing this, do I feel so … sad? Perhaps the combined pressures of childcare and working, not to mention exhaustion (my son hasn't been sleeping) are making me feel wobbly, but I suddenly feel close to tears thinking about choosing a VHS in the local Spar, even though that film was Scream (1996) and my mum made us turn it off. I can't quite seem to shake this feeling of loss, and of wanting to return to a simpler time. Maybe I just need more fun in my life. Time for a water fight, I think. Who's in? The Republic of Parenthood: On Bringing Up Babies by Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett is published by September Publishing (£18.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
The Guardian
4 hours ago
- The Guardian
From cosmopolitans to vibrators, the cultural heft of Sex and the City
Before Sex and the City, the cosmopolitan was just vodka, cranberry juice, Cointreau and lime juice. Afterwards it was a symbol of girlfriends, sex, flirting and freedom. But it wasn't only the image of the pink cocktail that the show revolutionised. The Guardian's journalism is independent. We will earn a commission if you buy something through an affiliate link. Learn more. From the time it first aired in 1998, the show – and to a lesser extent its descendant, And Just Like That – has shaped the way we dress, eat, drink, date, exercise and work. What it did for the cosmo it also did for everything from nameplate necklaces to vibrators, catapulting them to pop-culture phenomenon status. 'It was quite startling, the effect it had,' said Jennifer Keishin Armstrong, the author of Sex and the City and Us, which includes a chapter about SATC capitalism. 'It even changed the way we brunch. Overnight, we all understood that you go to brunch with your girlfriends to talk explicitly about sex.' So what are the items that the SATC universe supercharged? 'This was not a mainstream drink before,' said Armstrong. 'But I think it will forever be a staple on cocktail menus because of SATC. It was the perfect drink for the show. It's pink, so it reads as feminine, and it looks great on screen.' It might now be a drinks order that would raise a smirk with a well-seasoned bartender, but it still stands for more than the sum of its parts. When Big died of a heart attack after his 1,000th Peloton workout in the first episode of And Just Like That, it inextricably linked the brand to a moment of televisual tragedy. Peloton spokespeople were quick to point out that Big's unhealthy lifestyle was to blame and not their bike. The company even put out a parody advert featuring Chris Noth, the actor who played Big, alive and healthy (which it reportedly removed after sexual assault allegations surfaced against him). But the cultural harm was perhaps already done. 'I'm unsure if it was that exact moment, but I really don't see/hear people talking about them as much as they used to,' said Stephen Leng, who runs the Instagram fan account SamanthaJonesPR. 'Perhaps we all moved on after the pandemic, perhaps it was the cultural impact of Mr Big's death.' Carrie Bradshaw's laptop was a character unto itself, the screen upon which various sentences of her columns were written, generally crescendoing up to the phrase 'I couldn't help but wonder'. Armstrong got hers 'essentially because of Carrie,' she said. 'I remember getting my first Mac laptop and taking it to a park in the West Village to write and very much cosplaying Carrie.' Bradshaw's laptop now resides in the Smithsonian. They are now so synonymous with Bradshaw that to many they are known simply as 'Carrie necklaces', but the costume designer Patricia Field says in her book that she first spotted them on young Hispanic and African-American customers who came to her shop. Since criticised for culturally appropriating the necklace, she said in a 2023 interview: 'Yes, I appropriated the name necklace from the multitude of young, gorgeous girls who were my customers in my shop. The name necklace always caught my eye, but I have always given the credit to them.' According to Leng, it is 'one of the only fashion items that Carrie ever wore that was really accessible … They're still sold all over the world'. Launched in 1997, a year before Bradshaw hit screens, this luxury handbag is now rarely mentioned without connection to the character. 'It's not a bag,' Bradshaw once corrected a thief trying to steal her from her. 'It's a Baguette.' Searches on secondhand retail sites prove there's still appetite for vintage Baguettes, with Sarah Jessica Parker regularly wearing the bag, out of character, over the years. Sign up to Fashion Statement Style, with substance: what's really trending this week, a roundup of the best fashion journalism and your wardrobe dilemmas solved after newsletter promotion In some quarters and for all the damage they do, cigarettes seem to be back in fashion, and Bradshaw might well be one of the original smoking influencers, referenced along with James Dean or Audrey Hepburn. Often seen with a cigarette in hand, while writing, while drinking, while sitting on her stoop, Bradshaw's smoking was a major plot point in early seasons, and the series won a 2001 award for accurate depiction of a nicotine addiction. Bradshaw's feet were no stranger to Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins, but it was shoes by the Spanish-born, London-based designer Manolo Blahnik that really clicked, becoming a regular wardrobe choice and plot point. People took note. 'Carrie's complete obsession with them meant that I, a gay teenager growing up in rural Hampshire, knew that they were the shoe to covet,' said Leng. 'Even now, I can spot a real one from a mile off.' There was the episode where Bradshaw took umbrage at having to take them off for a party, and another where she got mugged for some. Most famous perhaps is that she was proposed to via a pair of blue satin and brooch bejewelled Hangisi Manolo Blahnik pumps. The shoe went on to become one of the designer's best-selling designs. The show is credited with bringing vibrators out of the shadows, ushering in a new era of sexual consumerism. The Rabbit first featured in an episode in 1998. The day after, people who worked at sex-toy shops reported queues around the block. SATC 'had an absolutely insane effect on Rabbit vibrator sales,' said Armstrong. 'This named the model and also made it feel more safe and normal to a lot of women, especially with the character of Charlotte being the one who got addicted, given that she was the most conservative of the group.' 'I'm sorry, I can't. Don't hate me.' These are the words that will run through the head of SATC fans whenever they see a Post-it. Written by Bradshaw's brief love interest Jack Berger, the actor Ron Livingston reportedly suffered the consequences of his avoidant breakup style in real life after the episode aired, having to hide from angry fans. Others have since noted that what in 2003 felt like an off-key way to end things, it feels 'borderline romantic' in the 2020s era of ghosting. You can buy replicas on Etsy. Despite being jilted not quite at the altar wearing a Vivienne Westwood design in 2008, Bradshaw made the late British designer the go-to for anti-brides of a certain age. 'The fact that Charli XCX wore a Viv dress for her extremely East London wedding earlier this summer shows the lasting impact that Carrie - running out of her wedding before whacking Big on the head with her bouquet - has had on the zeitgeist,' Leng said. 'It's possible Carrie's gown did as much for the high-end wedding dress industry as Vera Wang achieved in her whole career.'
Scotsman
10 hours ago
- Scotsman
Scott Turnbull's edutainment is surreally good fun
a Scott Turnbull and his collaborators won £2500 from Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy as part of the Keep it Fringe bursary scheme, launched by Fleabag queen, Phoebe Waller-Bridge (OK, Waller-Bridge's charity contrib-uted too) but you'd think the stage hands could of spent some of it on new paint, ay lad? Sign up to our daily newsletter Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to Edinburgh News, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... Yes, Scott Turnbull's contagious idiocy has soaked fully into my bones since I succumbed to his "edutainment" this morning at Summerhall (I know other venues exist but that's where I keep getting sent so take it up with the management...) sorry – I'm doing it again. I want to be back in Scott's Surreally Good world...! Scott greets us at the door and shakes hands; as a reviewer I worry I maybe hurt his feelings by piously breezing past him with a haughty pout. Can't get too palsy-palsy ye knaw. Objectivity etc. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad His million-candela smile didn't flicker, though, and he launched into a Dada-esque cavort through one of the silliest and loveliest explorations of... Stockton on Tees. Where he's from. Scott Turnbull presents... Surreally Good An overhead projector (do these still get made?) shows images from transparent slides, as Scott tells the mega-absurd story of 'That's Edutainment!', interspersed with hand-animated adverts which include a commercial for 'Babyfags' – yes, cigarettes for northern babies. He draws in real time – at one point backed by the theme tune from 'Vision On' – a talented illustrator whose characters, with migrating lips pursuing kisses from posh-voiced lovers (posh voices are a thing with him) evoke the style of Jim Moir or perhaps in his dafter moments, Grayson Perry. (Scott will be tickled wi' that comparison, fella!) The audience was chuckling and guffawing throughout and the warmth in the damp, peeling Summerhall dungeon grew steadily as Scott charmed the pants off us. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad It doesn't really matter how George Lucas wanted to buy his dad's show, or how Mr Turnbull met Scott's mum (a fishing net was involved); what matters is that he took us into a happy delirium, with that kind of hysterical silliness which can leave you high on laughter. Get in there; you might get a Chufty Badge. Venue 26, Former Womens Locker Room at Summerhall, 11.20am, until August 25 (not 18)
