Women who were girls in the 1980s tend to share an affinity for a few defining pop culture icons.
They include Madonna, who influenced our fashions and tape decks and challenged our notions of feminism and femininity.
Jake Ryan, the fictional, dreamy, totally awesome hero of Sixteen Candles.
Diana Spencer, who became the Princess of Wales while we were dressed in pajamas.
Almost 30 years ago, giddy girls and their mothers all over the U.S. woke up really early on a summer morning to watch a real-life fairytale wedding.
My sister and I perched on the edge of my grandmother’s bed, in front of her tiny bedroom television. With bleary eyes, we watched Diana walk down the aisle of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
We admired her frilled neckline and poufy sleeves and voluminous skirt and 25-foot train trailing atop the red carpet — volume that would be emulated on countless gowns to come, including my own.
An estimated 750 million of us watched the ceremony live on television. We couldn’t set a VCR or DVR to record it. We couldn’t hit the snooze button with expectations of watching the ceremony a few hours later on the Internet.
All at once, in a kind of moment that seems quaint now, we watched Charles and Diana kiss on the balcony at Buckingham Palace.
A friend and I were talking about the wedding — our royal wedding — this week, reminiscing and looking forward to the April nuptials of Prince William and Kate Middleton.
“Oh, I’ve got goose bumps,” she said, as we compared memories of watching Diana and Charles. (My friend also plans to ask co-workers to wear purple, the color of royalty, on the day of the wedding. And perhaps tiaras.)
I’m fascinated by how many of us love to talk about the wedding despite the royal disaster the marriage became.
It’s as if we’ve added our own “happily ever after” to the kissing scene and then skipped over the past three messy decades (animosity, infidelities, tragic accident) to get to the next scene — the older son of Diana and Charles poised to marry who we can only hope is his true love.
I’ve even been studying photos of William and Kate, comparing them to photos of Charles and Diana. I’m pleased when I see signs that the young engaged couple are truly engaged with each other, that they share knowing glances, that they seem to exude warmth (sadly lacking in photos of his parents).
Good gracious, why do I care if the future king of England is in love with his betrothed?
Because I want to sit with my Katie super early on April 29 to watch the wedding and to talk about the dress and hair and flowers and Westminster Abbey — all with a sense that this very big event will have a happy ending.
I want her to grow up and find kinship with other women who get emotional when talking about their royal wedding — and to not gloss over everything that happens after “I do.”
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. E-mail her at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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