A Love Letter to My Adolescent Bedroom
A time capsule of millennial girlhood, circa 2009.
On a recent trip back home, I unearthed a treasure trove of old cell phones – beautiful, chunky, plastic flip and slider phones with full keyboards, through which I had conducted the majority of my social life from 2007-2011.
When we got home, my husband, a connoisseur of old tech, found the right cord to plug them in and figure out if there were any photos left on them. And lo and behold, we found plenty of ephemera from my high school years – football games, inside jokes I’ve long forgotten, and there, like a gift I’d given myself 15 years before – a series of photos of my bedroom, circa 2009 or 2010. Taken on an ordinary day, my bed unmade, the detritus of my every obsession strewn around, a perfect encapsulation of the things I loved and the way I lived, half long-since forgotten, half seared indelibly into my memory.
My first sanctuary, the cocoon from which I blossomed into a beautifully awkward adolescent butterfly, perfumed with Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar and dusted with glittery powder blue eyeshadow. The tactical bunker to which I retreated to discuss strategy on everything from first crushes to first dates to first breakups.
My penchant for personalization was gaudy, garish, and over the top, but it was all mine. I curated my own girlhood with an obsessive eye, stealing inspiration from everyone and everything.
I plastered every surface with posters, magazine pages, notes from friends, and blurry photos on cheap printer paper from the school library of anything and everything I loved, held up by string lights and Scotch tape.
The pink and white striped walls, painstakingly taped off and painted over the course of several weekends by my sweet and ever-patient father, held an entire museum of fascinations.
I spent countless nights painstakingly cutting out images from glossy teen mags – outfits I liked, boys I thought were cute, rockstars and actresses I admired. In the wee hours of the morning, I collaged together new outfits and personalities, trying each one on for size, debating the type of girl I wanted to be.
Nearly every single piece of furniture was a hand me down stolen from somewhere in the house once my mom replaced it. The moss green carpet was speckled with paint, glue, Mod Podge, eyeshadow, and body glitter.
The oversized desk, once used to house our family’s computer, now home to my tiny netbook where I spent hours poring over Tumblr, DeviantArt, and FanFiction.net, downloading viruses on LimeWire, and using up my hourly skips on Pandora, discovering music I still love nearly two decades later.
The ancient antenna television where I watched movies on a nearly endless loop – in the one photo, I can see a stack of DVDs, the top one being a box set of Season 3 of Grey’s Anatomy. The window seat, lovingly built by my father with accompanying bookshelves, where I listened to Taylor Swift on an endless loop (back when there were only three albums and I had them all on CD).
The built-in bookshelves were a hodge-podge of water logged, dog-eared books from my childhood, Halloween decorations, craft projects, gifts and trinkets from high school theatre, and at least a couple pairs of shoes that I loved but couldn’t walk in (some things don’t change – I’ve had two pairs of elaborate white cowboy boots sitting in my office for years now, resigned to a life as decor instead of footwear).
In these photos, I spot two lumpy, handmade scarves that I painstakingly knitted over the course of many months. Paper lanterns from one of my birthday parties. An empty bottle of Ramune soda from the FYE at the mall. The absolutely terrifying porcelain dolls my great-grandmother gifted me that my mom insisted I display. The Build-A-Bear that I slept with for far too long. The tangles of gaudy costume jewelry from now-defunct stores like Wet Seal, DEB, and Charlotte Russe (guarantee there’s at least one metal owl necklace and one turquoise plastic statement necklace in this room somewhere).
While I like to think I have a little bit better decor taste nowadays, it’s so easy to see the beginnings of who I am today in this room. I still love a gallery wall, though they usually have frames now. I still think built-in bookshelves are the best way to adorn a blank wall, and I do still love the color pink, though my preferred hue is a little less eye watering these days.
I’m so grateful that I had this space to explore who I was and who I wanted to be, to express myself in every iteration, and to hide from the world every now and then. And who doesn’t love a good dose of early-aughts nostalgia?
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Absolute bedroom perfection! I have no notes, 10/10