In 1987, I was nine years old. My sisters were finishing high school, which meant I had a front-row seat to the best parts of 80s culture: the movies, the music, the fashion, and, of course, the impossibly big hair. I may not have been the classic brooding teenager of the decade, but my love for the 80s is very real.
When I think about the 80s, I think about long summer days in my childhood neighborhood. I remember riding my bike with friends to the local pool, spending hours swimming, listening to music, and stretching the day as far as it could go. My mom would hand me money for the vending machines, and I would disappear for what felt like forever. Later, my afternoons and evenings were often spent watching movies or television with my sisters, soaking up whatever they loved.
I was never the kind of girl who had dramatic celebrity crushes, even as I got older. I loved movies, but I didn’t think I attached myself to actors or characters in that way. At least, I didn’t think so until a couple of weeks ago, when Andrew McCarthy walked onto the stage at the Iris Awards. Suddenly, I was twelve years old again, giggling and cheering like a complete lunatic.
Credit: Michael Cummings
OMG, It’s Andrew McCarthy!
When people tell you to know your audience, what they really mean is this: understand what your audience wants before they even know they want it, and then surprise them with it. That is exactly how you create a memorable experience. Mom 2.0 managed to do that throughout the conference, but in this moment, it was all about Andrew McCarthy.
The Iris Awards are already a joy. There is something special about being in a room full of friends, peers, creators, and storytellers, all celebrating the work we do. Not long before that night, I had been thinking about what it means to want a seat at the table. The truth is, I already have one. Whether this blog has huge numbers or not, I am here. I am contributing, learning, commenting, supporting others, and making my own memories along the way. That night at the Ritz-Carlton reminded me just how powerful those memories can be.
After the awards ended, I was standing at the bar with my friend Dina when I glanced to my left and saw Andrew McCarthy casually taking photos with people. In that instant, nothing was going to stop me from walking over. I was completely giddy.
It felt ridiculous, but I had to say hello. Before I could think of something calm or clever, I blurted out, “I know I’m supposed to say Pretty in Pink, but oh my gosh, I loved you in Mannequin!” Then I mentally disappeared from embarrassment. He smiled graciously, said, “Oh, thank you,” posed for the picture, and that was it.
Mannequin, you guys. Suddenly, it all made sense. I must have watched that movie a hundred times as a tween and teenager, and somehow it got better every single time. Maybe it was because his character was an artist. Maybe it was the Chucks. Maybe it was the magic of Hollywood. Maybe the reason does not really matter.
I have laughed about that brief and silly encounter more than once. Why did it feel so important to leave my open tab at the bar just to say hello to someone I had never met? I do not want to overthink it too much, but it had been a long time since I had connected with that fangirl part of myself—the girl who sings loudly, dreams boldly, laughs with her head thrown back, and lets herself be swept up in pure fun. It felt good to be that girl again, even if it was only for five minutes.
That girl had big dreams, and it was wonderful to realize she is still here with me. Even better, she has already accomplished some of those dreams. Sometimes it is easy to forget the dreams that have come true because we are so busy chasing the next goal, managing the next responsibility, or trying to prove that we belong.
The point is not really Andrew McCarthy, the person. He has done incredible things since his 80s heartthrob days, and now, as a father and blogger, he is living his life like the rest of us. A richer and more famous version, perhaps, but still, you get the idea.
It is similar to going back to your old neighborhood or tasting a dessert you have not had since someone you loved made it for you. Nostalgia is a powerful instigator. On that night, for me, its name was Andrew McCarthy.
Inspiration 2.0
I call Mom 2.0 an inspirational conference for several reasons. Yes, there are plenty of opportunities to learn practical skills, hear from smart people, and think about the future of online storytelling. But more than anything, the conference creates space to dig deeper and ask why. I want a seat at the table, but why do I want it?
My why is that nine-year-old girl with the world at her fingertips, singing loudly, dreaming big, and overflowing with curiosity and creativity. My why is also my husband, who married a woman with dreams, ideas, interests, and a sense of humor. It is our two boys, who are growing up far too quickly. It is the knowledge that I am not giving them my best if I become a lifeless robot simply moving through obligations. They need me to be responsible, yes, but they also need me to be playful. They love when I laugh hard, and I love it too.
There is value in being practical, dependable, and focused. We all have responsibilities, and we cannot ignore them. But I needed the reminder that keeping a small part of our younger selves alive matters too. That is how we get through difficult days. That is how we teach the next generation to stay curious. That is how we connect, create, encourage, and remember who we are underneath all the noise.
It was the last lesson I expected to take away from Mom 2.0, and it certainly arrived in the most unexpected way. Still, my biggest takeaway from the conference was how wonderful it felt to be fully myself. It was fun to be silly, and I can promise you I was every bit as ridiculous as I sounded. In the words of Jonathan Switcher, “I’m not lying. I’m insane.”
Be insane with me. Tell me about the last time you tapped into your silly side, below!