Fanny Packs

Fanny pack. Bum bag. Hip pack. No matter what you called it, if you grew up in the 90s it's likely that you or one of your camera-toting tourist family members was guilty of owning one. No matter which attraction-filled city you happened to occupy, if there were sights to be seen then a full family sporting a rainbow of fanny pack styles and colors couldn't be far behind.

To be fair, fanny packs were indeed functional clothing. They gave a whole new and deeper meaning to the phrase "Look Ma, no hands!" That's right, it was the original hands-free style. A decade before all of those bluetooth-wearing tools were out tooling it up in their tool sheds, they roamed the streets with an earlier prototype. It was the ultimate choice of function over form. There will always be a sizable contingency out there who swears that aesthetics are irrelevant in making wardrobe selections. I respect if you are one of those people. Well, so long as you recognize that you are totally, completely, consummately wrong. A small concession, really, in allowing you to still wear a pack on your fanny. Because honestly. That's ridiculous.




People seemed generally unperturbed by the notion of adding an oddly-shaped zippered lump to their, ahem, private region. You know, what Jack Donaghy would call it your "swimsuit area". It's certainly worthy of further examination as suspicious behavior. Who knows what you're hiding behind there? Never mind, I don't want to know. Just promise me you'll never unzip it in my presence.

Whether it was a class trip or family vacation, fanny packs became inexplicable storage staples of our 90s wardrobes. I suppose the concept makes some sense, as carrying a backpack or a back-pocket waller inevitably leads to Oliver Twist style pick-pocketry. After all, it's an important lesson to teach kids. Trust no one. Everyone is out to get you at all times and are probably after your soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich and your souvenir I Heart NY keychain. Thieves go crazy for that stuff. Really. It drives them wild.

As someone whose parents made her buy one of those under-the-shirt necklace-style passport holders for her first trip abroad, I can certainly appreciate your desire to protect your personal belongings. Or, at the very least, your parents' desire for you to do so. It was more the placement of the accessory that I took issue with. It is universally unflattering, and thus should be shunned by all.

Don't get me wrong. I owned a fanny pack. Oh yeah. A bright, multi-color masterpiece with numerous compartments and zip closures. It clicked together with that satisfying snap! every time I fastened it to my waist and it was pure perfection. My lower waist area had never looked so ornamental. I loved that thing. Really, I did. I'm not embarrassed to admit it. Okay, well I'm not that embarrassed. Well I admitted it, didn't I? That should at least count for something.

At the very least, these things were versatile in their styling. We all knew the different fanny pack methodology to maximize our 90s look. Your fanny packing style* said quite a bit about your personal character. Wear it to the front and we knew you were a straightforward kind of guy, a no-frills, no-muss no-fuss person simply looking for a bodily-latched vessel to transport their keys.

Please do not purchase this. Seriously. I'm looking at you. Don't encourage others.

Wear it to the side, however, and we knew you were sort of, well, a gangster. In the way only fanny pack wearers can be. That is to say, you were most likely white, middle class, and reared in suburbia but dammit you loved rap videos and there was nothing anyone could do to stop you. It usually meant your parents weren't willing to risk their block party reputation by buying you some crazy colored hat you could leave the tags dangling on, but they were willing to spring for an educational trip to Washington DC. Hey, it's some consolation, isn't it?

The most perplexing wearers, however, were those that wore it slung to the back. Yes, I can understand if you're riding a bike** it may be a sort of useful positioning, but it's generally inexcusable as street wear. That is to say, the main argument for wearing a fanny pack tends to fall in the keep-people-from-stealing-your-stuff category. Your rebel without a cause devil-may-care fanny pack attitude is not ironic, it just shows that you're an irresponsible fanny pack wearer certain to fall victim to identity theft. Either that, or you're really, really embarrassed and are trying to convince everyone who meets you from the front that it's just a belt. Those of us who can see you from the back though, we know the truth. You can rotate but you can't hide.

Unfortunately, this was not the last we saw of fanny packs. Certain designers (I'm looking at you, Gucci) felt it necessary to revive the so-called fashion statement in the last few years, releasing an alleged "belt bag" that was nothing more than a glorified logo-emblazoned fanny pack. We're onto your tricks, high-end designers, and we're not going to fall for them. Either make a belt or make a bag, for for all our retina's sake, don't try for both.

Don't even think about it.

*I beg you to just let the double entendre go. Really. I recognize it too, and it is mildly hilarious. But let's all be adults here. Right?

**I mean you, not me. I will never ride a bike again. I loathe bikes for their cruel bone-breaking antics, and I believe fanny packs as cycling gear to be the just and rightful punishment for their menacing society. Not just for breaking my ankle, but also for acting like you're a car when I'm trying to drive in my actual car. I don't care if you're wearing neon spandex, you don't belong in my turn lane. Did I mention I'm not a big bike fan? I appreciate you reading this tiny, italicized rant. Now go strap on your fanny pack, bike boy.

Troll Dolls

Whose idea was it to have their eyes match their hair on these Treasure Trolls? Really, show yourself. That's probably one of the more frightening things I've ever seen.

When you think troll, what comes to mind? Is it a cute, cuddly, neon-haired pot-bellied figure, or a mythical violent under-bridge dwelling creature a la Three Billy Goats Gruff? If you can't answer it correctly, I'm pretty sure he'll make good on that threat to gobble you up. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Many of us did indeed grow up believing that the word troll was exclusively reserved for these hard plastic Einstein-haired elfin dolls. I didn't know that a troll was supposed to be scary, or mean, or snarly, or a generally unsavory character. I was too busy praying that mine came with a rhinestone belly button.

Troll dolls were originally conceived in the 1960s in Denmark and the first specimens were made of wood, leading us to deduce that the original troll-players were besieged by splinters. This semi-impoverished whittling man unknowingly started a Danish toy craze that quickly spread across the world. Though the general concept and design was based on the Danish woodcarver's prototype, he probably never in his wildest troll-infested dreams foresaw the insane breeds of trolls yet to come.

For instance, I'm willing to bet a fair sum of money that he never, ever had anything in mind even remotely like this when he carved that original little wooden figurine for his daughter:

Russ Troll Kids Ad
Uploaded by a90sfan. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.

I'm not embarrassed to admit as a child I longed to be in this commercial. I mean, what's better than singing and dancing in a toy store with a group of my troll-hugging peers? It's 90s cheesiness at its very best. That synthesizer in the background in pretty critical too. This has got to be one of the laziest ad campaigns I've ever seen. I understand the notion of a no-frills, gimmick-free commercial, but repeating "Can't stop hugging the troll kids" over and over is verging on neglectful.

But I digress. Trolls went underground for awhile between the 60s and 90s. Not literally, of course. Well, not the toys. The real things, I've heard they tend to do that kind of thing. Where was I? Oh yes, the Troll doll renaissance. The dolls were resurrected in the 90s with a big marketing push. The original trolls, however, just weren't kicking for these 90s children. The dolls were now battling the forces of video games, computers, and other mind-numbing recreational stimuli.

The 90s toy market was highly segmented, with toy manufacturers eager to market simultaneously to kid demographics across the board. Rather than offering one solid product, most toy producers opted to offer innumerable watered-down variations of the original. Hence was the case with trolls, leaving many consumers scratching their heads at some of these Troll releases. Here's a prime example of the ridiculous manifestations of the original:



Yes, you heard correctly. Troll Barbie. They don't explain why or how she's associated with Trolls or why she insists of wearing tufts of their multi-colored hair on her head. She wears pants with cartoon Trolls on them and has a Troll necklace. If you're thinking this makes no sense at all, congratulations. You've outwitted the 90s Mattel advisory board.

Clearly Trolls were a tad on the girly side, leaving toy companies scratching their heads as to how to effectively market these cuddly critters to boys. After all, that's a pretty significant segment of the market going un-Trolled. This is what they came up with:



I've officially changed my mind. This is the quintessential 90s commercial. I'm not exactly sure why they had to go ahead and kill a rustling meadowful of adorable, girl-friendly Trolls in order to prove their point at the beginning. Clearly subtlety was not on their marketing agenda. Not only do they claim these dolls to be "OUT OF CONTROL!", they also end the commercial with a threat: "Collect them before they collect you!" I'm sorry, what? What? That makes. Absolutely. No. Sense. Not even a sliver. I guess they got so caught up in the frenzied fast-paced excitement of the commercial, they forgot to proofread the script.

There was also this lighter male-directed line called Stone Protectors, who were supposedly equally bad-ass but who appeared as cartoons in the ads. They also conveniently come with an arsenal of accessories sure to lift the bills directly from your pockets.



If that wasn't enough to do it for you as a kid, how about some misleading and unverified claims? Treasure Trolls were a serious craze, differentiated from the original on belly button rhinestone detail alone. The commercial, however, leads us to believe that these trolls have magical powers to make all of our wildest dreams come true.



They really wanted to drive the point home, so they also came out with this winner of an ad, showing just how exciting your life could be if only you incorporated Treasure Trolls into your daily existence. This one definitely plays down the questionable Treasure Trolls Answer Your Prayers part, too.



In the spirit of cross-marketing, they also released Troll video games, computer games, and even straight-to-video VHS releases like this one:



Really, just don't ask questions. You'll only strain your brain. If nothing else, retrospection on Trolls shows us just how much toy manufacturers were able to get away with in the 90s. Their many Troll releases were pretty shameless. It's almost as if they simply sat around the board room table, everyone coughed up one marginally absurd idea, and they called it a day. When a brand is elevated to craze status, you can pretty much release whatever you want. Looking back, they may have been a bit silly, but at the time I'd give anything to add to my troll collection. I won't lie to you, I'm still sort of coveting that Troll Barbie. What? The commercial was pretty persuasive.

Babe

Who doesn't love talking farm animals? Okay, so maybe I know a few select people who will inevitably tell me these things terrified them to no end, but on the whole they have a lot going for them in the cuteness department. Funny little voices, cute scurrying movements, hilarious misunderstandings of real-life situations through their animal-brain lens. What's not to like?

Babe was one of those movies that could have been a triumph or a disaster, and it managed to come out as the former. Believe it or not, movie technology in 1995 was not quite everything it was today. Technological prowess aside, talking animals have a tendency to go one of two ways: overly cartoony and amusing to only those in the under-ten set, or heartwarmingly adorable in a way that makes you want to "awww" through the whole movie. Babe managed to pull it off, earning not only some well-deserved "awwws" but also some seriously positive critical acclaim.

The movie is an Australian film about a little pig who wants to be a sheepdog. Like most good family films, the premise is simple and uncluttered. Sure, there are some cute B-stories, but it's not an especially complicated plot. The straightforwardness of it appealed to parents and children, and the movie showcased classic themes and values with one corkscrew-tailed twist: a pig protagonist. I'm willing to bet a lot of kids forwent the BLTs at their post-film dinner trips. He was just so darn cute, it was hard not to see him there, waving feebly between the leafy greens and ripe tomatoes.





Ohhh my gosh, when that little Babe cries, "I want my m-o-o-o-om", I die a little inside from the incessant adorability. Could they have chosen a cuter protagonist? The correct answer is no, no they could not have. Babe is the best. He's not just cute and cuddly, he's also naive, strong-willed, stubborn, and determined. In short, he's a perfect entertainment for children because he's exactly like them. Parents were pretty keen on him too, most likely won over by this amazingly endearing version of Jingle Bells:



Babe was not, of course, the only featured farm animal in this film. The movie had a slew of barnyard pals to entertain and enthrall us. The movie begins with our cuddly future pork product is separated from his siblings by chance and selected to be in a booth at a county fair. Farmer Hoggett, the adorable Australian farmer who looks like a moderately more huggable version of pitchfork man in American Gothic, feels an immediate bond with Babe and correctly guesses his weight for the win. He brings home his new prize runt and allows him to nest with the sheepdogs, a cocky breed who clearly know themselves to be the farm favorites.

He is befriended by Maa, a maternal sheep, and Ferdinand, a misguided scheming duck. Ferdinand had been playing resident rooster, and was very upset at the introduction of the mechanical rooster--that is, alarm clock. He ventures with Babe on a covert mission to stop the dreaded mechanical rooster, resulting in mild antic-rousing and some downright messes. Meanwhile, the sheepdog matriarch Fly mourns the loss of her sold-off puppies, and Babe requests to call her Mom. Oh my gosh. The cuteness. The cuteness. I'll give you a minute.

Despite many pork-crazed visiting relatives, Mr. Hoggett inexplicably befriends Babe and protects him from uncertain dinner fate. Unfortunately, they go with duck a l'orange, incidentally the tender meat of Ferdinand's gal pal. Ferdinand peaces out at this point, determined not to become the next duck a l'orange. Babe encounters some men trying to steal some of the Hoggetts' sheep, and in watching the family sheepdogs gather up the herd is enthralled by the possibility of sheepdoghood.

Mr Hoggett takes notice of Babe's special interest, giving him the opportunity to give a go at herding. The sheepdogs warn him that sheep should be treated roughly, but after biting Maa his adorable guilt is just too much to bear. No, our pal Babe opts for asking them politely to please fall in line, to which they graciously comply. The other dogs are pretty pissed and a fight breaks out, leading to some seriuos barnyard drams.



Farmer Hoggett thinks about entering Babe in sheepdog trials, and everything seems to be going very well. Then of course, there is a series of events that are heartbreakingly sad and which I will intentionally omit not just for brevity's sake or spoiler consciousness, but because they make me a cry like an overgrown infant. I'll let you rent the movie or Netflix it or whatever newfangled thing you kids are doing these days to get ahold of classic films, but I'll spare you some of the sadder details. You're welcome.

Babe gets signed up for the sheepdog trials under the auspicious stage name "pig". Before his grand performance, he finds out that (gasp!) people just like his beloved Mr. Hoggett actually eat pigs. I know, I know. I'll give you some time to digest that. Not literally, though, I hope. Hoggett sings the 70s hit "If I had Words" to try to make it up to him. A small consolation, no doubt, but he goes for it. After some tense moments, Babe performs beautifully in the sheepdog trials, earning the praise and admiration of the crowd. And of course, he gets the ultimate show of affection from Mr. Hoggett himself, who tells him, "That'll do, pig. That'll do."

I leave you with the mice rendition of If I had Words, certain to make you smile or make your eardrums burst depending on your tolerance for helium-infused voice work.