No Fear

Have you ever been sitting in your doctor's waiting room admiring his framed inspirational posters and thought to yourself, "Hey, I could really go for this as a T-shirt, only with an angry spin"? Well, have I got a brand for you. For those among us who felt the need not to impose our trite tidbits of sports-minded wisdom onto the general public, No Fear clothing was nothing short of a godsend. Finally, here was our chance to make our voices heard and let our peers know that they need not fear hockey or snowboarding.

The 90s marked the beginning of the fascination with so-called Extreme Sports, which were classified as "extreme" largely on the basis of their high risk of fatal injury. Sounds fun, right? We all seemed to think so as we sat glued to our televisions fascinated at the death-defying antics of professional skateboarders and their ilk. The No Fear brand capitalized on the rising interest in Extreme Sports, channeling its invincible and ambivalent spirit with its existential slogans.

Of course, most of us were too young to see it that way. We weren't out to debate Camus' influence on our sportswear choices, we just wanted to be cool. According to the rising No Fear brand, what was cool was an aggressive, nihilistic outlook on life. While the brand produced both adult and youth apparel, it was always more unsettling to see a kid sporting a shirt with the phrase "He who dies with the most toys, still dies." For one, the punctuation is pretty questionable. Is this the level of comma misuse we want to bestow unto our children?



Created by race car driver Brian Simo and friends in 1989, the No Fear brand quickly ascended to popularity in the early-to-mid 1990s. Most of the shirts offered up semi-inspirational sports quotes with a sole focus on winning, defeating others, never losing, and...well, you get the idea. According to No Fear, even coming in second was a sure sign of longstanding failure. These sentiments were a far cry from the touchy-feely "At least you tried!" attitudes of today. According to No Fear, there was no trying, only winning. That sounds like a pretty healthy attitude, right?

No Fear presented a very machismo-esque black-and-white view of the world, mainly that our self worth hinged on our ability to shoot baskets or make game-winning goals. Self-proclaimed macho sportsmen took to the streets in No Fear-adorned pickup trucks and SUVs, proudly displaying bumper stickers or over-sized decals. This practice declared your extreme, anti-establishment, tough-guy attitude. Everyone knows that an obstructed view through your rear window is for pansies.
The problem with the No Fear message was that it wasn't really a message at all. People quickly bought into the notion as some sort of ideology to live by, but it was really just a gimmick to sell some crappy athletic t-shirts. "No Fear" wasn't a way of life or a religion. Truthfully, "No Fear" wearers were probably most afraid of outing themselves as fear-mongering frauds. The false bravado of the t-shirt just hid the ultimate fear of failure. Plus, it made them look like a total tool. I mean, really. Just awful.

No Fear shirts quickly became the daily uniform of many boys and young men, or at least when their Stussy and Mossimo shirts were in the wash. These shirts were arguably a step above the "Coed Naked" and "Big Johnson" t-shirts, but not by much. For bonus points and to achieve the 90s athletic apparel trifecta, a guy could even pair their No Fear shirt with Umbros and a Starter Jacket. It may not have been pretty, but dammit it was stylish.



It wasn't long before the moral-minded knockoffs started rolling off the copyright-infringing assembly lines. Just like the innumerable "Got Milk?" parodies, many religious organizations began parodying No Fear's signature t-shirts and replacing the win-at-all-costs aggressiveness with faith-friendly slogans. Seemingly overnight we were seeing these well-intentioned knockoffs everywhere; phrases like "Fear God" and "No Fear, Got Faith" were popular variations. The producers of these shirts meant well, I'm sure, but the overall effect was less than desirable. After all, the only thing worse than wearing a No Fear shirt was wearing a parody No Fear shirt.

The brand's popularity peaked in the mid-90s and the craze quietly petered out. People soon found new, similarly tool-ish decals to pollute their rear window views, and No Fear seemed to fade into relative obscurity. While once you couldn't turn a corner without being bombarded with No Fear's single-minded message of winning and defying society, it seemed everyone's shirts had quieted down considerably. Clothing no longer spoke to me about my growing sense of failure and inadequacy; it was all drowned out by the far more upbeat ads for Gap khakis and Old Navy fleece vests.

It appears No Fear is still churning out t-shirts, but their current style offerings look like a poor man's Ed Hardy. That is, a watered-down version of the Jon Gosselin-patented douchebag-at-a-distance identification system. To put it another way, our over-tanned pals on Jersey Shore would look right at home fist-pumping at the club in any item from the present-day No Fear line.* So, like the shirts say, have no fear: these babies are here to stay.


*Depending on your penchance for trashy reality TV, the above comparisons could yield disgust or could go over your head entirely.

Titanic

There can be a some major issues in creating a fictionalized movie based on a historical event, but none more, well, titanic, than that facing James Cameron's 1997 blockbuster Titanic. No matter what sort of curve-balls and snaking twists he threw into the plot, you knew there was no chance this boat wasn't going under. There's zero likelihood of a surprise ending with this one, particularly if you saw the movie after you listened to the spoken verse in Britney Spears' "Oops I Did It Again."All the character development in the world couldn't quell that sinking (pun intended) sense of dread that our heroes were just hours from facing imminent catastrophe. Considering hordes of young girls a la Twilight saw the movie three or four times in theaters, it clearly had an X factor that transcended predictability.

In the wake of endless Avatar buzz, some of us forget that this isn't Jame's Cameron's first go at billions-earning film endeavors. Incredibly, Avatar and Titanic are currently ranked as the top two highest-grossing films, suggesting that Cameron's Titanic-inspired "I'm the king of the world!" chalks up to far more than presumptuous chutzpah*. This guy has obviously earned his cinematic clout, particularly in piquing the interest of not just critics but the general public. It's one thing to wow critics, but another realm altogether to convince the millions of the huddled masses to drop ten bucks for a screening.


While Titanic garnered innumerable accolades for its visual splendor, it's possibly more impressive that such a major contingency of people were willing to sit through the full 192 minutes. We're talking three point two hours here, especially long for those of us who hate to leave a movie even for a much-needed bathroom break. Consider the following equation: a large movie theater soda plus 192 minutes plus continuous rushing water onscreen. This did not bode well for the weak-bladdered among us.

Titanic even performed best on Valentine's Day of 1998, taking in over $13 million. Kudos to Cameron for convincing us not only to sign on for three plus hours of screen time but that this disastrous tale of a doomed trans-Atlantic voyage was the most romantic date movie choice. Well played, James Cameron. Well played indeed.

To the movie's romantic credit, it has a certain Romeo and Juliet-type appeal. Our romantic leads are not just star-crossed but downright predestined for separation. The subject matter was also arguably compelling enough to warrant such popularity; shipwrecks also have an elusive allure, captivating us with their unforeseen tragedy and trauma. Let me tell you, though, that it lacks that charm when your cruise line chooses to play it on continuous loop on the in-ship movie channel. Your fears of seasickness will pale in comparison.




The movie opens on then-present day excursions of undersea treasure hunters. Bill Paxton and friends set out to find the famed "Heart of Ocean" blue diamond, rumored to have been on board at the time of the ship's sinking. The underwater excavation doesn't yield any jewels, but it does unearth a drawing of a nude woman wearing the much sought-after necklace. Rose Dawson Calvert, a 100-year old survivor of the wreck, comes forward as the subject of the drawing in question and travels to meet with the excavation team. In typical old person fashion, she gets way off track, launching into a 3-hour detailed chronicle of her experiences onboard. They're just after the diamond, lady, really.

Rose reflects on the outset of her voyage, recalling her 17-year old self boarding the ship for its maiden voyage in 1912. Her family brokered her engagement to the son of a wealthy steel capitalist as a last-ditch hope to save their dwindling hold on the upper class. Rose sees no way out of her impending nuptials and heads to the ship's stern, from where she plans on jumping into the ocean. A scraggy but undeniably handsome steerage passenger, Jack Dawson (Leonardo DiCaprio), spots Rose just as she is about to jump to her death and interferes. Her fiancee hears Rose's screams and suspects Jack tried to take advantage of her, but Rose stands up for Jack and the two forge a friendship.

Jack takes Rose to the third-class quarters where she partakes in some raucous partying featuring folksy instruments, fur hats, and a fair amount of do-si-do-ing. You can't deny this looks far more enjoyable than the stuffy upper decks' humorless dinners.



Rose's fiancee finds out about her minor act of rebellion and forbids her to see Jack. Rose defies his wishes and continues to spend time with Jack, culminating in his suave artistic maneuvering that results in some good old fashioned nude sketching. Things get completely R-rated here, from Kate Winslet's bare breasts to their steamy tryst in a Renault, but somehow Titanic wrangled a PG-13 rating.

Long, long, long story short(ened), Rose's betrothed Cal is pissed, he frames Jack and has him arrested, rendering Jack handcuffed to some pipes. The ship makes troublesome contact with an iceberg, Rose manages to free Jack, and we begin our long drawn-out saga of limited lifeboats and probable hypothermia. The ship splits in two, our heroes end up chattering away in the chilly ocean, there are some heartfelt teary-eyed promises to "never let go", and Jack freezes to death. Rose is saved, and the movie brings us back to the present day for the close of Rose's story. Rose secretly tosses the Heart of the Ocean into the water and the whole thing ends rather ambiguously but sweetly with our witnessing the reunion of teenaged Jack and Rose.

Oh, and how could I forget that this onscreen saga featured a bestselling soundtrack chock full of instrumental James Horner and this epic ballad by the ever-overblown Celine Dion?You just couldn't escape this song in the late 90s; it was everywhere.



If after all that you still need a Titanic refresher course, the internet is teeming with conveniently condensed versions of our favorite movies. Observe, exhibit A:



Titanic went on to sweep the awards shows. I have a distinct memory of keeping a steadfast tally of its wins on Oscar night (for the record, an impressive 11 wins for 14 nominations). My friends and I rushed out to purchase the two-VHS edition of the film for our own viewing enjoyment, though few of us kept up with our initial mania to the point of sitting through the full thing at home. To be fair, though, many of us had seen it multiple times in theaters and had earned our titles as tween fanatics.

The movie may have been fictionalized, but it did have an uncanny manner of drawing us into an interest in historical events. Any film that has the power to interest angst-ridden teenagers in nautical history is right up there with winning 11 Academy Awards: a feat achievable by few. Whether or not you liked the movie, you've got to admit it takes a special type of movie to impel young people to take an interest in any event featured in their history textbooks. I'll concede that the salacious love story and some light nudity may have helped, though. I doubt a documentary would have piqued our interests so readily.

*There's not really any other kind of chutzpah, but for those of you without a strong background in Yiddish, I thought I'd throw you a bone on that one.

The Babysitters' Club

In light of the late-breaking 90s news that the Babysitters Club* is being revamped for a new generation of kids, it seems only appropriate to give the BSC some well-deserved Children of the 90s fanfare. I occasionally pick up some flack for my coverage of girly topics, but this time around you're just going to have to deal with it. Things are going to get downright feminine here, so don't say I didn't warn you. We're going to talk about slumber parties and crushes on boys and young female entrepreneurship and you're going to like it, dammit.

The Babysitters Club was a formidable 90s franchise, spawning a series of books, a TV show, a feature film, and countless items of allowance-worthy tie-in merchandise. The series focuses on a group of business-minded middle-school aged girls who form a well-organized club to process and dispatch sitters for local childcare requests. As a child, I revered their detail-orientation and maturity, but as an adult, I find it harder to believe that people would trust these 12- and 13-year olds with their easily breakable infants. Youth notwithstanding, it's probably more impressive that the girls managed to get the whole neighborhood to cave to their demands for hourly rates. These girls were good.

Author Ann M. Martin pumped these books out at regular intervals from 1986 to 2000, producing 213 books selling over 176 million copies. This woman is a veritable BSC-producing machine. She had a unique sense of appeal to tweenage girls, piquing their interest with wholesome stories of everyday obstacles.

That front cover offer to join the Fan Club? Totally did that

Martin gave us all of our favorite stock characters, forever categorizing each of us as "a Mary Anne" or "a Kristy". I always wanted to be a Claudia or a Stacey because of their keen fashion sense and model beauty, but I had a nagging suspicion growing up that I was more of a Mallory. If you've ever read the series, you know this to be a huge bummer. You'll be glad to know I managed to escape the Mallory route by never growing curly red hair, getting glasses, or being born into a family of 10, but it was a close one there for awhile.

It's possible I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, as I have yet to properly introduce you to our cast of characters:

Kristy Thomas: Our fearless leader and self-proclaimed tomboy. In 90s young adult books you could always tell if a girl wasn't particularly into her looks if she wore her hair in a ponytail, and Kristy was no exception. I call it the curse of the Elizabeth Wakefield; God forbid a girl has a bad hair day, these YA authors will forever relegate her to being the serious one. Everyone knows all the real fun-loving girls of YA lit wear their hair flowing and loose. It's pretty much the only symbol we have for the personality of a middle-school aged girl.

But enough of Kristy's lamentable ponytail. Kristy is bossy, outspoken, and sporty. She's generally a fair and benevolent ruler, though occasionally she lets the glamor of her presidency of a suburban middle-school babysitting club cloud her better judgment.


Mary Anne Spier: The requisite quiet and shy girl, Mary Anne is Kristy's best friend. The two are initially neighbors until Mary Anne's dad marries Dawn's mom. At the beginning of the series, her single father is very protective and strict, but all that fizzles out once they integrate with the hippie Schafers. Mary Anne is the first of the girls to have a boyfriend, and let me just say that based on the actor in my Scholastic Book Order's VHS copy of Mary Anne and the Brunettes, Logan Bruno is definitely a catch.


Stacey McGill: Our fun, stylish, blonde model friend. I dotted my i's with hearts for probably six months after I read that was Stacey's signature style. I was hoping I would morph into a Stacey on the merit of my bubbly handwriting alone, but the undertaking was generally fruitless. I guess I just wasn't permed enough.

Stacey is a the club's resident exotic sophisticate, with her New York City nativity, modeling career, and diabetes. I was actually jealous of Stacey's diabetes as a kid. She's special in every way, plus she gets a lot of bonus outpourings of attentions due to her periodic hospitalizations. That's the way my 7-year old mind interpreted it, at least. Some people have all the luck.


Claudia Kishi: The artist of the group. Claudia is funky, candy-addicted, and terrible at all things academic. She's also Asian, giving the group a much-needed breath of diversity, at least until Jessi comes along. If you've ever seen the movie, you know that her poor grades warrant summer school and a hearty performance of the chant, "The brain, the brain, the center of the chain!" Her family is pretty by-the-books, so they're naturally bothered by her outlandish appearance. Treble clef earrings and fringed vests? For shame.


Dawn Schafer: The hippie do-gooder of the group. Dawn is a blonde vegetarian Californian, descriptors that the books treat as generally interchangeable. She and Mary Anne are step-sisters, which causes some rifts from time to time but is generally pretty cool. She eventually moves to California and gets her own spin-off book series, but not before the TV show's Dawn got to hang out with Zack Braff. No, really. He was there when Dawn saved the trees. I've even got the video evidence to prove it:





Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey: Our junior members, meaning they are a grade younger than the other girls and thus vastly inferior according to the club's rigid membership standards. Mallory comes from a huge family of freakish gingers and Jessi is black and a ballerina. I'm sure they have other traits, but these are the main ones the books tend to dwell on.


When the TV show premiered, I was decidedly heartbroken that my house's sub par cable didn't include HBO or the Disney Channel. Luckily, through the aforementioned magic of Scholastic Book Orders, I got the full set on VHS. I'm still bitter at whoever taped Oprah over the second half of Stacey's Big Break. You know who you are. Anyway, whether or not you were a fan of the show, hopefully you knew the incredibly catchy theme song:



I'm not embarrassed to admit this song graced a few of our pre-gaming playlists in college. Okay, it's totally embarrassing, but I sacrifice myself at the altar of your collective bemusement at my expense. You're welcome.

There was also an eponymous full-length film starring Rachael Leigh Cook, Larissa Oleynik, and some less famous people. The movie wasn't exactly a box-office blockbuster, but was generally pretty satisfying to fans. I know I'm still heartbroken that I no longer have any technological apparatus on which to play my VHS copy. I did, however, recover this song from the soundtrack for your listening enjoyment. Again, I take full responsibility for my terrible, terrible taste in music as a child.



These girls may not have been extraordinary in any way, but children in the 90s took to them for that reason: they were decidedly ordinary. I imagine if the revamped books catch on, an entirely new generation of girls will fall in love with them all over again. Only this time around, they'll all have iPods and cell phones instead of Walkmans and their own phone lines. A small price to pay for some good old-fashioned wholesome fun, don't you think?


*And yes, I heard about Diablo Cody's Sweet Valley High movie project, but that will just have to wait its turn. Honest to blog. See, I can say that here, cause it makes sense.