Daria

Hearken back, if you will, to a time when MTV's original programming budget could afford more than the middle school dropout scriptwriters they currently employ to pen Date My Mom and A Shot of Love with Tila Tequila. A time when intelligent sardonic cartoons could still capture the imagination of a preteen audience not yet contaminated by the likes of High School Musical. A time when a contemptuous misanthrope could hold spotlight rather than be banished to the supporting character category.

And if you didn't quite see yourself as a Daria, well, there was always Quinn.

Daria Promo


The characters in Daria ran the social gamut in a manner of sharp satire rarely found in teen-directed television. This was no Saved by the Bell. No, Daria told it like it was; humorously and critically chronicling the vast teenage wasteland of suburbia. It's rare that such an abrasive character can be so likable, but the writers seemed to strike that perfect balance between edgy and observant. Sure, Daria wasn't all rainbows and sunshine, but she was complex and interesting. Not to mention that relating to her made us feel smart.

Yes, Daria Morgendorffer was of a rare breed. It's odd to think that such a profound and well-conceived character was spun off of such an utterly idiotic show as Beavis and Butthead, but so it was. The Daria sense of humor was fully distinct from the crude, if sometimes admittedly funny juvenile style of Beavis and Butthead.

Daria...from humble beginnings

Daria and her peers were developed in an intelligent way that had eluded their show of origin. The show mainly utilized Daria's derisive eye and provided us with endless satirical jabs at our own high school experience. Her distinct outsider status gave us all an opportunity to pretend for a brief moment that we did not occasionally shamefully see ourselves in the mainstream peers that she so disparaged.

Let's explore our quirky Lawndale cast:

Our Hero

Daria Morgendorffer, sarcastic extraordinaire and our eponymous hero. Her deadpan monotone packed a lot of punch into her exceedingly judgmental and smart-alecky comments. She met her best friend Jane in self-esteem enhancement class, if that provides any clue as to how she was perceived by others. She was cynical, opinionated, judgmental, and somewhat of a misfit, but there was something in her that was distinctly relatable nonetheless. The beauty of Daria was that even the most teenyboppery among us had some vague experience with teenage angst, though likely not on a Daria-level. As if by magic, the Daria creators were able to draw out (excuse the cartooning pun) that collective part of our adolescent selves who felt ill-at-ease in our orderly surroundings and make light of it.

The Trusty Sidekick

Jane Lane, Daria's rhyming-monikered partner in crime. Jane was a burgeoning artiste, favoring the odd and unusual in sync with her favorite TV show, "Sick Sad World." Her parents are frighteningly free-spirited, frequently leaving her and her older brother home alone for indeterminate periods of time to raise themselves as they saw fit. Jane had a comparable worldview to Daria, but was somewhat more relenting with her judgment of others and occasionally exhibited a weakness for the mainstream.

The Unrequited Crush

Trent Lane, Jane's brother and equally monotone misguided punk rocker in the band Mystik Spiral. Convinces Daria to pierce her belly button. Obviously bad news.

...Later Replaced by Requited Crush

Tom Sloane, Jane's former boyfriend and all-around likable wealthy snob. Unlike most other teen programs, Daria admirably did not eclipse this boyfriend switcharoo plot line in a single or two-part Blossom-style "Very Special Episode." Rather, the story arc of the tension between Jane and Daria over this clear case of boyfriend stealage was built over an entire season. In the end, Daria was likely just too awkward to maintain a steady relationship, though there was a hilarious after-school-special-esque "should-I-or-shouldn't-I" episode about Daria contemplating the loss of her virginity.

The Well-Meaning Parents

Helen and Jake Morgendorffer, hilariously overdrawn caricatures but well-intentioned parents nonetheless. Helen was a former-hippie-cum-high-powered attorney and was generally clueless about the lives of her daughters. Jake was a repressed stressball marketing consultant known for his ridiculous rants about the light childhood trauma of imposed military school. Helen and Jake would often spit out one another's names as if they were insults in a relatable if somewhat tragic way. These two were also known for occasionally getting freaky. It was relatively disturbing, if admittedly a tad sweet.

The Bubble-Headed Sister

Quinn Morgandorffer, Daria's ray of sunshine and spectacularly vain and materialistic lil' sis. You were never supposed to admit that Quinn was your favorite character in the face of Daria's more subtle humor and charm, but I must admit I was quite taken by Quinn. You wanted to despise her brazen superficiality, but there was something deep within her self-delusion and self-importance that was oddly appealing. If you could bizzaro-ize Daria exactly, Quinn would be the result. But in her own way, she was sort of cute, and not just because she constantly proclaimed herself to be so.

The Fashion Club

Quinn's ultra-superficial clique; Sandi, Stacey, and Tiffany, who possessed as a group probably my favorite voicework on any animated characters, ever. Sandi, the slowed-down-Romy-from-Romy-and-Michelle voice whose tyrannical leadership of the Fashion Club and constant rivalry with Quinn was a never-ceasing divisive issue. Born-follower Stacey, who probably should have been the one sent to self-esteem class for her unceasing agreement with everything ever said by anyone. Tiffany, who spoke so slowly you could knit a scarf in the time it took her to construct a sentence. Priceless. If you could have put a price on it, though, it's fairly certain these girls would have bought it.

The Interchangeable Quinn-Worshippers

Joey, Jeffy, and Jamie. All willing to drop anything to attend to Quinn's every whim. Their devotion and attention to detail was certainly admirable, though possibly a bit creepy.

The Requisite Dumb "Jocks"

Brittany and Kevin, dumb as rocks and constantly making out in the hallway. Need I say more?

Our Taste of Suburban Diversity

Jodi Landon and Michael "Don't Call Me Mack-Daddy" Mackenzie; the sole two black students at Lawndale High. Overachieving and sometimes a tad bitter about their ignorant classmates, but generally amiable.

The Generally Insane School Faculty

Lawndale High had a distinct knack for attracting faculty of the sanitarium-escapee variety. This ragtag gang of educators included an overly flirtatious bitter divorcee science teacher, the prone-to-shouting perpetually eye-poppingly angry history teacher, Stuart-Smalley-esque English teacher, and budget-hungry principal. Sure, there were a few normal ones in the bunch, but overall these teachers had a certain quality that made us wonder who let them work with children in the first place. We can only image it was part of some sort of work-release program.

As a burgeoning adolescent sarcastic, I too fancied myself some variety of Daria. The fact that I bought a ring bearing her sacred image at the Viacom store in New York City is a clear testament to my Quinn-rivaling lack of irony. This, however, reflected the beauty of Daria. It could be both a biting social commentary and successful commercial enterprise. They even shamelessly exercised some cute if somewhat tired gimmicks like musical episodes and full-length TV movies. The show differentiated itself from others, however, with its own unique brand of humor and distinctly un-MTV-esque quality. If you've ever sat through an episode of Parental Control, you know that's a good thing.

It also helped that the show didn't take itself too seriously, as many teen shows of the time were wont to do. Daria maintained a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek tone that created a cartoon world in which nothing was sacred, or at least nothing was safe from the show's critical lens. The wit was dry and sharp and utterly unapologetic. Better yet, the show's credits ended with "alter-ego" drawings of the main characters dressed as famous figures. What's not to like?


If you never got into it or simply can't seem to conjure up the memories, I've included a handy full episode (Season 3, episode 6, "It Happened One Nut") to revive what I can only hope will be your undying and forever devoted love to a once-great MTV show. If this doesn't convince you to join the fight for DVD release, I'm not sure what will:

Daria-peanut
Uploaded by micophive

Check it out:
Secret Stash of multi-part full eps on YouTube
Outpost Daria

Doc Martens

Who wouldn't get in line to purchase overpriced footwear once associated with skinheads and gangs of the 1960s and 70s? There's nothing like taking a ripe piece of subculture and mainstreaming it to the popular kids. How exactly the Doc Martens people ever convinced hordes of Abercrombie-wearing, gum-chewing, Backstreet Boy CD-purchasing teenyboppers that these grungy workboots were the height of cool is a mystery best left to professionals. There was clearly a force bigger than all of us urging all of these head cheerleaders and lacrosse team captains to beg their parents to shell out for these pricey shoes.

It may be fair to theorize that the rise of Doc Martens fell somewhat in step with the rise of grunge culture, but it's also relatively safe to say that many of the middle schoolers sporting Doc Martens in the mid-90s didn't know Kurt Cobain from Adam. It would be easy to shove the blame for this trend onto a reputable cultural phenomenon, but the horrifying truth was that these clunky shoes had a following entirely separate from their initial 90s grunge roots. No, many of these kids actually had the gall to like these shoes on alleged merit alone. To many of us, there was nothing sexier than seeing a potential mate clomping around in a charming pair of 12-pound clunky rubber-soled boots or sandals.

Truthfully, Doc Martens' popularity crested at the point of contact between grunge chic and preppy Clueless-style fashion. Lost and confused, we were eager to fit in but perplexed by the wide range of wardrobe trends to which we could feasibly subscribe. Like a deer in the headlights, many were so blinded to fit in that they were willing to forsake principles in their fashion choices and don a mishmosh of incongruous trends. Thankfully, Doc Martens were also available in styles I like to refer to as "Doc Marten Lite." This set of equally cumbersome but less counter-culture-esque footwear included sandals, mary janes, and ordinary-model shoes in lieu of the more in-your-face, take-that-authority style boots. It was as if kids were saying, I like the idea of these badass shoes but I also am concerned about completing homework assignments in full and not arriving tardy to homeroom.

In a time where name brands were king and no brand emblazonment was too brazen or tasteless, Doc Martens neatly filled a void in the shoe department with its easily recognizable signature stitching. The truly punk-rock or grunge among us liked these shoes for what they stood for, but the more shallower (read: the majority) of teens wore these because they were hopelessly lemming-like and wanted everyone to know exactly what brands they were sporting. There were countless imitation DMs on the market, but none of them could achieve that glorious undeserved sense of self-worth achieved by having a pair of shoes with thick yellow stitching just above the soles. Mainstream kids could breathe a sigh of relief that their yellow-stitched stompers would not go unnoticed.


These shoes weren't exactly cheap, either. Many of us were forced to deliver formal presentations to our parents convincing them of the merits of shelling out over a hundred bucks a pop for these babies*. Our in vogue classmates often had more than one pair so as to give their loud foot-stepping some visual variety, so parents came to know these shoes as a steep monetary endeavor. You could claim all you wanted that this was an investment and that you would wear them forever, but I challenge you to find more than a handful of 90s children who can recall the fate of their once-beloved Doc Martens.

Doc Martens weren't just iconic in the 90s for their presence, but for the inexplicable ways in which their bizarre trend was manifest on adolescent feet nationwide. One of the most curious exhibitions of Doc Martenry was the odddly sought-after socks-and-DM-sandals look. While just a few years ago we may have chastised our fathers on vacation for sporting a similar look to match their fanny pack and passport holder necklace, this look was suddenly all the rage. We're not just talking any socks here, either. No, the fashion-conscious knew it was specifically white socks--that is to say, those most closely tied to the dreaded tourist-father-with-straight-bill-baseball-cap look--that made you a genuine style maven.

While the shoes were certainly comfortable and functional (aside from the inevitable drag associated with carrying the equivalent of two-ton bricks on each foot), they could not remain in the fashion spotlight forever. Much to the I-told-you-so style castigations of our parents, so too did this trend eventually end up lost somewhere in the back of our closets next to the piles of plaid skorts and convenient 43-pocket cargo shorts. For those of you lucky enough to have preserved your shoes properly (if like me, your shoe store threw in a free tin of Doc Marten shoe shine balm!) there is still hope yet that these shoes will live to see another day outside the circle of gardeners and neo-Nazis who favor them today.

Quirky-styled supermodel Agyness Deyn has been seen all about town sporting these old standards, poising them for a comeback. For those of you who have been eagerly anticipating the second coming of these shoes (in your lifetime, at least), you may just be in luck.



Then again, she's also sporting white leggings, a sweater miniskirt, giant blue hair bow, and leather-and-shearling coat complete with multiple non-functional belts, so this trend may not quite be ready for the masses yet. Lucky for you, there may still be time for you yet to recover your old Docs.

But this time, let's lose the socks.





*Was this really just me? Because I must say I had some pretty penetrating pie charts.

Lunchables

In the late 80s and early 90s, the Oscar Meyer company was out to prove that they were more than just a catchy jingle and a Wienermobile. At this point, we were all fairly aware of Oscar Meyer's way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A. We were relatively proficient in identifying our bologna by both its first and second names. We even had general affection for ingesting the aforementioned mysterious lunchmeat daily. What more could they want from us?

Perhaps they were upset were were packing non-Oscar Meyer brand products in our school lunches. Maybe it was that sometimes we favored Jennie-O Turkey Breast over our old mystery meat pal bologna. Or possibly they were just concerned we weren't meeting our daily sodium level potential. Whatever the instigator may have been, the quest to streamline the lunch-packing process had begun.

When it came to the 1990s elementary school cafeteria, brown bags and insulated coolers were out and prepackaged boxed lunches were in. Suddenly the height of cafeteria coolness revolved around snack-like, nutritionally devoid, candy toting yellow boxes. To pull out one of those signature Lunchables boxes at lunch time was to declare yourself party to the latest in food trends and blatantly flaunt your parents' reputable recalcitrance for wholesome nourishment. Those of us whose parents insisted on packing us a food pyramid-inspired balanced meal were forced to hang our heads in shame at our lack of preboxed lunchtime delights.

The Lunchables roster certainly expanded over the years, but it began with a simple savory formula: crackers, adorably miniature slices of lunchmeat, and overprocessed and suspiciously orange cheese slices. Later models included such awe-inspiringly nutrition-void amenities as Capri Sun drink pouches and a fun size portion of candy. Some of us, though I won't say who, learned the don't-put-metal-in-the-microwave lesson the hard way via the addition of the metallic Capri Sun pouches. Her parents may or may not have frozen Lunchables for posterity and future lunchability, and she was not quite patient enough to let it thaw. Again, I'm not naming names, but she may or may not have broken her family's brand new microwave through this ill-fated Lunchable venture*.



Lunchable varieties became increasingly questionable with each successive incarnation. Each model stayed true to the original formula of a collection of spare lunch parts complete with assembly instructions, but Oscar Meyer certainly weren't afraid to experiment with creativity. They churned out pizzas, nachos, mysterious forms of "dunkers," tacos, and nearly any other fathomable junk food-based product. Naturally (or as the case warranted, by means of artificial flavoring) it was only a matter of time before anti-childhood obesity groups and health advocates stormed the Lunchables bastille in the name of all things overly salty.


Yes, these salt-packed snacks were tasty, but it's largely due to the fact that they were often packing a whopping three quarters of a daily recommended value of sodium for an adult. Mind you, these were mainly consumed by children, so it's fairly simple to deduce that the sodium content more than exceeded their healthy daily dosage. This preservative-rich snack boxes came under fire for their absolute defiance in the face of rising health consciousness. Essentially, researchers looked on in horror as morbidly obese children waddled to their lunch tables, inhaled a Lunchable, chased it with the fun size candy, and went into a salt coma. These were kids walking through their elementary school hallways single file not out of obedience to teachers but out of necessity to fit through the cafeteria door.

The Oscar Meyer/Kraft people could only hold out for so long. There was really no adequate defense for the remarkably low nutrition levels of their products, other than that children adored them and their junk-foody contents. As long as there was a consumer demographic of parents still willing to poison their children with dangerous sodium levels, there was no reason for them to make any sort of adjustment. However, as the pressure from nutrition advocates mounted and led to devastatingly bad press for Oscar Meyer/Kraft, the company quickly changed their salty tune.


It may be a bit harsh to say they sold out, considering the admittedly poor levels of nutrition in the original product. However, they did oblige to their opposition and began offering options such as fruit juice and yogurt. While these new additions may have had some grounding in health food, it's pretty safe to say they didn't significantly alter the overall caloric content. Regardless, as long as the juvenile salt-related cardiac arrest subsided, they were able to quietly continue packing children chock full of delicious artificial additives.

That said, it's important to note that some of their current releases are highly questionable. Take this disturbingly fizzy pop-rocks knockoff meat+candy creation.It just goes to show you that change does not necessarily equal progress. To its credit, however, the packaging does herald the excellence of the meal's calcium content. Calcium or not, the whole thing seems pretty suspicious. It's safe to say that while contemporary children may not enjoy the same levels of salty deliciousness, Lunchables continue to outrage parents everywhere in a distinctly kid-pleasing manner.

And isn't that what really counts?






*In case you failed to gather from the heavy hints, this was clearly me. I never did own up to breaking the microwave.