There are only a few things more alien and foreign to me than a Californian. Despite my frequent interactions with these beings, I have yet to decipher some of their odder quirks. They avoid exposing themselves to any temperature below 65 degrees, scorn inauthentic burritos and use the word "bootsy" with only a very loose idea of what it truly means. Even after sharing a room with one and forging friendships with a healthy handful, I still don't know what Californians mean when they go "hyphy"; humans though they might be, they are certainly a breed apart.
I spend much of my time with enjoyable Californians, but rarely expect to glean any further understanding of their hip lingo or slang. Imagine my amazement, then, when the Californians with whom I was spending time this past weekend could accurately and fully sing Destiny's Child's "Independent Woman" in the exact same way that I could.
Special doesn't even begin to cover it.
Up until that magical moment, I had assumed our cultural upbringing had been complete inverses of one another. Foolishly, I had simply seen our surface-level differences as indicators of a more complete divergence. Their exposure to sun for longer than a quarter of the year, while remarkably different than my perpetually cold Midwestern life, did not mean they loved such childhood classics any less than I did.
They remembered the "Boy Meets World" (1993-2000) cast as completely as I did and choreographed nearly identical dances to Spice Girls songs. This discovery of a common cultural childhood awakened a bond based on nostalgia so deeply ingrained in our hearts and immediately unified our previously separate identities.
Coming from virtually every corner of the country, there are plenty of lines along which we as Tufts students divide ourselves. I am a self-proclaimed Chicagoan, proudly and assuredly. To others, that simply means I am a glorified version of Midwesterner who lives in a square state that just produces corn. Even in the aforementioned "Golden State" of California there are strong alliances to respective regions. Give us a chance to diverge and we do.
That's why the unifying magic of our youth culture is all the more remarkable. It is so easy to bond over that undeniable nostalgia conjured by a Backstreet Boys song or an "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" (1991-1996) reference, regardless of the shame associated with your intense crush on Howie D. The seemingly tasteless infatuations of our childhoods have validity in their unifying power. It is only in those instances of bonding that your obsession with Robin Williams à la "Mrs. Doubtfire" (1993) is acceptable.
The importance of nostalgia associated with culture of the past can be seen on a larger scale with the increasing popularity of mash-ups. The most popular fusions often feature those songs straight out of the '90s that embodied our childhood pop awakening. Anyone familiar with "Blue (Da Bee Dee)" (1999) by Eiffel 65 can attest to its mashable qualities. Few can deny the tugging nostalgia generated by some of the more classic '90s music we might hear by chance in the midst of a mash-up. The irony of hearing Drake's voice on top of a Britney Spears beat has a sweet, satisfying quality that stirs those nostalgic heartstrings.
Say what you will about the caliber of culture that unites our divergent student body. I cannot defend the ladies of 3LW and honestly say they made good music, especially after Kiely William's devolution — look up "Spectacular" if you haven't already. I can wholeheartedly support the loving bond that emerges after a late night sing-along to "No More," though, and will pardon any associated lapse of judgment.
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Madeline Hall is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Madeline.Hall@tufts.edu.
