Why I Still Love and Miss the ’80s

They say you can’t go back—but tell that to my heart every time I hear the first few chords of a Journey song or watch the glow of a CRT screen warming up in a darkened room. The 1980s were more than just neon colors and synthpop. For me, they were formative. They were human. They were full of wonder, grit, and invention. And while I’m fully planted in today’s world—family, profession, responsibilities and all—there’s a part of me that will always miss the world the ’80s gave us.

Not just for what it was, but for who we were in it.

The Sounds That Shaped Us

The music. Good heavens, the music. It wasn’t sanitized, focus-grouped noise designed to algorithm its way into our heads. It was big and bold and a little reckless. You felt it in your chest. It spoke of heartbreak, rebellion, triumph, and late-night rides with nowhere to go but everywhere to be.

Whether it was Springsteen singing about the working class, Prince blurring every line in sight, or Michael Jackson changing what music was, the airwaves were alive with authenticity. Even the pop fluff had soul. And don’t get me started on the mixtape—the greatest love letter medium ever invented. You put thought into a mixtape. Each track meant something. It was storytelling wrapped in cassette tape and teenage courage.

When Tech Had Soul

As someone who’s spent a good part of life inside the circuits and systems of technology, let me say something that might sound odd: machines back then felt more human. They weren’t sleek or seamless. They didn’t anticipate your next move. They made you work. They pushed back a little. But in that push, you learned. You grew.

Booting up a Commodore 64 wasn’t just about playing games—it was an invitation. An invitation to create, to explore, to learn how it worked. You typed in programs from magazines by hand, character by character. Every beep, every cursor blink, every glitch… it all taught you something. And when it finally worked? That was your reward.

We weren’t just users. We were co-creators in a digital frontier that had no GPS. Just curiosity and gumption.

Real Connections in an Analog World

I miss talking on phones with coiled cords, where you had to be present because you couldn’t scroll while listening. I miss eye contact, and watching someone’s face light up as they opened a letter from you—something you took time to write, stamp, and send. I miss the way a night with friends wasn’t documented but remembered, because we had to pay attention to hold onto it.

There was a slowness to the ’80s, and I don’t mean sluggish—I mean deliberate. Intentional. You couldn’t binge-watch life. You had to show up for it, one episode, one arcade token, one roller rink lap at a time.

Style With a Pulse

Yes, we had perms and shoulder pads. But our style had something to say. Whether it was punk, preppy, new wave, or heavy metal, you could tell who someone was just by looking at their denim jacket. You expressed identity with patches, buttons, boomboxes, and hair tall enough to pick up shortwave. We weren’t afraid to be loud. We weren’t afraid to look ridiculous in pursuit of individuality. In fact, we celebrated it.

And when fashion changes today with the swipe of a finger or a new TikTok trend, I still smile when I pull on an old concert tee or lace up my high-tops. Because I know who I am. And a part of that came from who I was back then.

Media That Made Us

We didn’t stream our childhoods—we lived them, one Saturday morning cartoon at a time. We didn’t have thousands of options—we had maybe a dozen. But we memorized every line of The Goonies, Back to the Future, and Ferris Bueller, and those characters stuck with us. They gave us archetypes to look up to—or to laugh at. And somehow, those stories taught us about bravery, loyalty, and what it meant to be a little odd but okay anyway.

The news, when it came, came once a day. You weren’t bombarded. You had time to think. Time to talk. We didn’t scroll—we discussed.

We Earned It

One of the reasons the ’80s stay etched in my soul is because things weren’t easy—but that’s exactly what made them meaningful. If you wanted to play a video game, you saved your quarters and got your ride to the arcade. If you wanted to hear your favorite song, you waited by the radio with a blank cassette and fast reflexes. Nothing came instantly. Everything took a little effort.

That effort gave it weight. When you fixed something, you learned how. When you broke something, you lived with the consequences. And when you succeeded, it was because you earned it, not because the system nudged you along with hints and safety nets.

There was a rugged dignity to the way we approached the world.

It Wasn’t Perfect—But It Was Ours

Let me be clear: I’m not romanticizing everything. The ’80s had its flaws. Plenty of them. But we knew it. We felt it. We weren’t numbed by digital noise or drowned in distractions. Our imperfections were worn on our sleeve, not buried under filters.

And that’s the thing. The world wasn’t better because it was easier—it was better because it belonged to us. We engaged with it. We showed up, side ponytails and all. And in doing so, we found each other.

So yeah—I love the ’80s. I miss them deeply. Not because I want to escape today, but because I want to carry the best of then into the now. The patience. The creativity. The grit. The soul. The sense that anything was possible if you just had the guts to tinker, dream, or dance like nobody was recording.

Because nobody was.

And maybe—just maybe—that's what made it all so real.