Body Glitter

Many people are slaves to fashion. They will blindly follow the trends presented to them as the height of attractiveness, regardless of the actual appeal. Or at least, one can only assume they do it blindly. There's not much of an excuse for those of us with fully functional vision to jump on the bandwagon.

Body Glitter is a prime example of this lemming-style following. We sheepishly (yes, sheepishly) look back at our complete lack of individuality and low sense of self as we wince and grimace over old photos of us sporting the most absurd of fashion statements. It was so obviously unbecoming, unsubtle, and unsightly, but we begged our parents to buy us great pots of the glittery goop nonetheless. We weren't picky about its form; it could be semi-gelatinous or congealed, liquid or solid, roll-on or spray mist, lip gloss or nail polish. If it sparkled, we were desperate to get our hands on it.

Not even top 90s teen celebrities were immune to the allure of slathering their stomachs in glitter

For young girls growing up in the 1990s, glitter was like a broad-point neon highlighter. We assumed that if there was something we wanted to call attention to, the only viable solution was to douse it in sparkles. How were middle school boys ever going to notice your stunningly feminine clavicle bones if not for carefully calculated application of glitter to that area? How, I ask you?

The glitter was ubiquitous. If there was some appreciably visible surface on our bodies, it was subsequently slathered in glitter. No bodily territory was sacred. We didn't so much treat our bodies as temples but as fun-houses. Cosmetic companies produced all fathomable forms of the stuff. You could paint it on your nails, gloss it on your lips, smear it across your chest and shoulders, or even spray or comb it into your hair. If there was an area you wanted glittered, cosmetic companies were eager to oblige and feed our frenzied desire to ensparkle every inch of ourselves.

Makeup companies like Hard Candy and Urban Decay capitalized on our vulnerability to sweeping trends and presented us with an unending array of glitterizers. They knew we were eager to indiscriminately smear glitter all over our faces, and they were properly prepared with plenty of sparkly ammunition.

Hard Candy supplied us with sugary-sweet candy-colored glittery nail polishes with names like Sunshine and Sky.


In contrast, Urban Decay provided us with an endless palette of of shimmery eye shadows with such charming designations as Asphyxia and Acid Rain.


Oddly, these companies marketed to the same demographic and we consumed them both with little thought of subscribing to two absolutely incongruous cosmetic-producing forces. As middle schoolers, we weren't much for irony. It is pertinent to mention that these companies are now owned by the same parent corporation, presumably stuck together with all the remaining mucilaginous glitter residue in their respective R & D departments.

With respect to our aimless glitter consumption, the problem was not so much in the shimmering. Sure, it can be nice to bring focus to some key areas through the subtle use of mainstream cosmetics. However, as sixth graders, we lacked this global perspective on socially acceptable makeup and instead sought out more age-appropriate incarnations of our earlier childhood EZ-2-do bedazzlers. It seemed harmless enough. What was the worst that could happen? So we sparkled for a few hours, and then we could rinse it off.

Or so we thought.

There's one serious problem with glitter that middle school girls of the 90s failed to foresee.

It. Never. Washes. Off.

Seriously. Never. If you don't believe me, consult Demetri Martin and/or this t-shirt (available here):


It never washes off.

It does, however, behave in some other notably unfortunate ways. I'm not sure if you're aware, but bodies tend to sweat, especially when thrust into a mid-90s rave-type setting (before they were all busted by Dateline NBC, that is.) While 250 young girls are out in some abandoned warehouse taking ecstasy, listening to techno music, and waving glow sticks, the carefully preapplied sparkles at the corners of their eyes and on their shoulders are beginning to gelatinize. There was no more disgusting visual as curdled, clumpy body glitter. Fortunately for the precendent ravers, they were fortuitously swathed in the incessant flash of strobe lights. Less lucky for us girls caught in such a dilemma at say, a bar mitzvah party or a junior high dance, where we were decidedly SOL under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the synagogue auditorium or school cafeteria.

Despite our knowledge of the semi-permanent consequences, we pressed on in our quests to out-sparkle our peers. While "body glitter" is a fairly unobjectionable blanket term, some of the products housed under that broad umbrella were downright revolting. Those of us with the most minor of flairs for subtlety would opt for a tub of glitter gel or a misting glitter body spray, but the major attention seekers in our 7th grade classes were blatantly envelope-pushing. They would paint it on their nails, only to realize they would remain in that fossilized form for years to come. These girls weren't content with shimmering Bonne Bell Lipsmackers like the rest of us; they had to resort to full on chunks-of-glitter in their lipsticks. They were also the targets of one of the more loathsome and confusing products to be launched by mid-90s cosmetic corporations.

Say it with me now: glitter hair mascara.


But wait, you say. Isn't mascara for eyelashes? What on earth is it doing in your hair?

Well, we were wondering the same thing. Unfortunately for us, our impressionability to peer pressure at that age left us powerless to stop this force. Yes, we dutifully combed glitter into our hair, only to find ourselves completely and utterly cemented to our pillows the next morning. But dammit, did our hair sparkle.

Whether you were a glitter dabbler or devotee, one thing was for certain: if you chose to apply it to your body, you were in for the long haul. As chemists project the glitter to have a 10 year half-life*, you're probably still scrubbing yourself raw in an effort to remove it.

Of course you're not alone. You can seek help here, here, or here, though there are no guarantees.

And if that doesn't work, well, you'll always have your sparkling memories firmly adhered to your cheekbones.


*This scientific fact is completely made up. Get it? Made-up? Makeup? Okay, fine, don't come along with me for that one. Either way, it's not true.



Check it out:

A website fully devoted to the sale of all things body glitter
The ultimate horror: a make your own body glitter kit

Bill Nye the Science Guy

Hello and welcome to Nineties Institute examination. I will be proctoring this examination. You must use a standard, wooden, graphite-based No. 2 pencil for all portions of the test. Bubbles next to your answers should be filled in completely. All other bubbles should be empty. Be sure to make your marks heavy and dark.

Ready?

Begin!

Question 1: When you think science, what comes to mind?

A) Petri dishes
B) Graduated cynlinders
C) Mysteriously smoking noxious compounds
D) Rap music video parodies

Question 2: Who is to thank for bringing you endless hours of science-based entertainment?

A) Your parents
B) Your teachers
C) Your classmates
D) Viewers like you

Question 3: When something in science excites you, your immediate reaction is to:

A) Record it
B) Share it with the class
C) Continue careful observation
D) Chant wildly, "Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill!"

If you answered all or mostly "Ds," you must have been a fan of Bill Nye the Science Guy. Or at least you watched it in middle school science class.



For some reason, this tall, lanky self-proclaimed "science guy" had a sort of hypnotizing quality over us. Maybe it was the cheesy way in which he and his cast mates sought to relate to contemporary youth culture. Maybe it was his ultra-dramatic voice-overs indicating the scientific value of the subject at hand. Maybe it was his bowties.

In retrospect, probably the bowties.

Although Bill Nye the Science guy was decidedly directed at a preteen audience, it was chock-full of teenage pop culture references. Perhaps the show's writers formulated the ratio Teenage Culture: Preteens ≥ Coolness and thus inferred that Teenage Culture + Science = Cool. It's all very scientific, but I swear it adds up in a deductive reasoning type of way.


In short, the show capitalized on 90s youth culture standards to entice tweens to learn a thing or two about science. If there was ever a more absurd adult-use-of-teenage slang than the catchy Bill Nye slogan, "Science Rules!" I'd like you to show me. Sure, we all knew it was corny, but Bill and the gang presented it to us with such enthusiasm that we often couldn't help but get caught up in it. Often before presenting some seemingly commonplace object, a voice-over would boldly declare "This is the _______....OF SCIENCE!" The ______ of science, indeed.

It also sometimes took on an children-directed sketch-comedy type quality à la All That, such as in this charming cross-dressing segment featuring Bill Nye as the lovely Vivian Cupcake:




Cheesy, yes, but at least you learned something and experienced some mild form of educational entertainment. Bill Nye the Science guy was into well-worn comedic territory in a big way. For some reason as of yet to be explained by indoor kids and middle school science teachers (i.e. the show's main audience,) Bill Nye loved parodies. And not necessarily clever ones, either. We're talking more Weird Al than Christopher Guest. Many of these parody sketches went a little something like this:





Aside from the regular sketch-comedy-esque spoken bits, most episodes also featured a parody music video as well. If I hadn't already mentioned Weird Al, this would be a great time to reference him. Unfortunately, I've already used that one so I may just need to let the following video speak for itself.

I present to you, the grunge-tastic Nyevana as "Smells Like Air Pressure:"



You may be asking yourself, wait, did they really just parody Nirvana in full costume to illustrate a scientific phenomenon? The correct answer would be yes, yes, they did. Nothing is too far in the name of lightly comedic science educational television programming. At least they got the correct dirt-to-hair ratio on that one.

As Nyevana, Sure-Floats-a-Lot , or Carpoolio, the Science Guy and his pals certainly had their finger on the pulse of America's youth. At the very least, they could provide some pertinent information on its beats per minute or arterial pathways.

Check it out:

Funny Bill Nye Onion Parody
Even funnier follow-up inquiry

Choose Your Own Adventure

You find yourself in an underwater palace. You see the walls slowly moving inwards on you, and begin to panic. You have 12 minutes worth of oxygen remaining.

To continue exploring the underwater palace for treasure, turn to page 18.
To swim ashore to safety, turn to page 22.

What would you do? The options are endless! Well, actually, there are only two. But, hey, I get to choose! Let's swim to safety! The word "safety" is right there! A clue!

You are nearly to the shore. Dry land is a mere 100 yards away! You notice a shark encircling you, blocking your escape to safety.

The shark eats you and you proceed to die a tragic, gory, horrifyingly gruesome death.

Okay, so maybe Choose Your Own Adventure books weren't quite so graphic, but there was a lot of dying. The publishers easily could have released a subseries entitled "Choose Your Own Death" and no one would bat an eye.

The omnipresent themes of untimely death led to the inevitable appearance of spoof CYOA covers like this one

Fortunately for persistent and patient (read: cheating) readers, there was usually one measly way out. However, if you took a single misstep (or mispage-turn, as the case may have been) you would have to spend hours retracing your path and trying to save your doomed reader self from certain death in endless capacities. The more savvy and lazy of CYOA readers would flip ahead in search of the heroically safe solution, but the real devotees suffered endless deaths in their quest for ultimate salvation.

Choose Your Own Adventure books were not solely a 90s phenomenon, but certainly enjoyed a heyday during the decade. In step with parenting trends emphasizing the individuality and uniqueness of each child, parents sought out reading experiences that would draw out their child's exceptional qualities. Okay, so maybe that isn't exactly true, but I had you there for a second, didn't I?

Initially formulated in the 1970s as Adventures of You, CYOA pioneer Edward Packard quickly saw the error of his grammatical ways and changed the title to the now known-and-loved Choose Your Own Adventure. You would be hard-pressed to find a more straightforward and self-explanatory name for a book series, but their charm was implicit in their simplicity. Perhaps they weren't literary masterpieces, but their interactivity certainly got kids reading, if only to find out all of the spine-tinglingly grisly forms of death that awaited them at every wrong page turn.

A seriously clever (if somewhat blurry) map of a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Book from www.seanmichaelragan.com

With hilariously tongue-in-cheek titles like You are Microscopic (1992) and Tattoo of Death (1995), it was clear the series' authors didn't take themselves too seriously. Certainly there was never another series whose titles so frequently made use of poorly-placed exclamation marks. In fact, it was as if all the authors had taken some sort of Into to Choose Your Own Adventure course with a heavy focus in exclamatory punctuation. Such ridiculous titles as Hijacked! (1990), Kidnapped! (1991), Earthquake! (1992), and Typhoon! (1995) made use of this absurd formatting. It seemed to become a successful CYOA author, you needed only to think of a single theme, italicize it, add an exclamation mark, and you would be immediately added to the publisher's catalog. Come book-order time, your long-awaited title Unneccessary! would shoot to the top of the RL-6 bestseller charts.


Also notable in CYOA stylings was its unique use of familiar pronouns to address the reader directly. Usually, we open a book expecting to be a third party to the story and would be a bit shaken if the author began making direct requests of us. However, Choose Your Own Adventure books were formatted to make the reader feel as if he or she was actually directing of the action, no matter to what extent the quality and grammar would suffer. It was all about you, and it was thus necessary to begin practically every sentence with that pronoun. It's as if the authors feared that if they briefly diverged from constantly referencing the second person singular, the reader would be completely lost. "Well, wait a minute," they'd say, scratching their heads. "I thought this was about me. Why, I'm not in here at all!"

The best part of these books was that plot was generally a secondary feature. The author had used most of his or her talent and energy to produce a fully-functional interactive book that brings a reader to an ending with each read. It was almost as if the plot was an afterthought. After all, who was the author to be writing anything of substance when it was you, the reader, who was to choose his or her own adventure? To illustrate this point, I give you the back-cover copy off classic CYOA #11, Mystery of the Maya. Granted, this particular book was published in 1981, but I assure you it only got worse rather than better:

Your best friend Tom has been in Mexico for a short trip, working on a TV report on the ancient Mayan civilization. Three days ago, he vanished without a trace. The only clues you have are terrible, haunting nightmares where Tom is killed in a Mayan sacrificial ceremony. You must find him before these nightmares become reality! Can you even trust your own dreams? Maybe someone is telepathically leading you off course so you'll never reach your friend in time! What should you do next?

Of course! A Mayan sacrificial ceremony! There is really no other remotely credible explanation for your friend's disappearance. Well, except for that someone may be using their powerful influential ESP to lead you astray. Back of the book, you ask such powerfully deep questions. What should I do next?

If you've yet to get your fix of these, fear not, they're still available at fine retailers everywhere. If you're not into the retro reading, in 1998 they began publishing new CYOA titles under the cleverly-named Chooseco label. Just think, if they can select a company name like that, imagine what sort of choices they have in store for you!

Check it out:
Official Chooseco CYOA site
Choose Your Own Adventure...DVDs?
Awesome CYOA T-Shirt