Death of Pretty, Pink & Sixteen

I find myself somewhat devastated by the news of John Hughes passing. Granted, in recent years, I have not found myself in a theater watching a John Hughes movie. I think his last work was writing Drillbit Taylor. Not a classic. I didn't even see it.

But in the 80s, I could probably define my time by Hughes. I was already college-aged (and in college, something that took me longer than it should, that's another blog) when Sixteen Candles came out. I can remember the ads, desperately wanting to see it, going by myself to a theater in Lubbock, TX. I only remember a dark theater, laughter, wanting all of Sam's clothes, probably her hair, and certainly her outcome in that movie.

Each successive Hughes movie celebrating the intricacies and tragedies of being a teenager was a favorite. He wrote the words that echoed what we spoke & thought or more likely what we wished we did. I was a 20-something finding myself in The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, even Some Kind of Wonderful.

And then there was Pretty in Pink. I didn't live on the wrong side of the tracks, but I almost wish that was the reason the popular people weren't friendly to me in high school. How I wanted a combination of Andie's clothes, Iona's cool & Duckie's verve. I am an Andee (different spelling, but still) imagine hearing your name attached to all of that. The angst, the cliques, everything that makes the teen years what they are. I was still needing these movies to help me recover from my teen years and move through my twenties.

Even now, upon hearing John had died, all my favorite scenes roll through my head. I want to find a cool hat to wear, I want to go back to work in a record shop, I want to fall in love again like I was 16.

I feel like we have truly lost something great. What words, what scenes, what defining moments were left in his head that we will never know? The lover of the visual in me is crushed to not know the answer.