Yo, It’s Me, Your Fanny Pack, Here To Tell You To Stop Being Embarrassed By Me
The 90’s are back, baby!
Look, I get it. There’s a lot of ways to feel attacked for your fashion choices in this day and age. Gen Z is running rampant on TikTok coming at unsuspecting millennials for their side parts and skinny jeans while everyone above the age of 30 hits back at the youths for never leaving the house without both ass cheeks and midriffs fully exposed. You’ve all got stones to throw. But here’s the real cold hard truth: every single trend — even the horrific gaucho pants — will cycle in and out of the fashion scene FOR-EV-ER.
So cut the shit. Stop trying to impress people. I’ve seen the giant sweatpant-onesie you wear on no-shower-Sundays. It is time to embrace me wholeheartedly. You might’ve originally bought me for a 90’s themed dance party, a gag gift for yourself, if you will. But we both know how much you love me and my pastel color blocking. And now, it’s time the world knows it too. I want you to scream from the rooftops that you LOVE your fanny pack. If you can wear bike shorts, scrunchies and overalls with reckless abandon, WHY NOT ME?! We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. We both grew up on Friday nights with Cory and Topanga. We both got duped by the promise of secure financial futures if we waited in line for the latest limited edition Beanie Baby and kept the original tag protected. Oh wait, that one was just you…what an investment that turned out to be, huh? How much is Pinchers the Lobster worth now? A lot less than me, I’ll tell you that!
And now here we are in 2022. The world is in ruin and I think we can all agree that what we need as a society is a good old fashioned dose of nostalgia. Pair that with an array of funky pattern options and hands-free mobility and you’ve got yourself a slam dunk like Pippen in the ’92 finals. I mean come ON. We’ve really come a long way since nylon was the hottest fabric in the streets. Sure that “swish-swish” is satisfying as hell, but I know you have a taste for the finer things in life because you added a pleather leopard-patterned fanny pack to your cart last night. I was peeking out from the dark corner of your closet and caught you mulling over the purchase. You know as well as I do that you’re going to wait for a “we think you forgot something” email with a free shipping code and pull the trigger on that checkout. I won’t even be mad if this new pleather fanny pack becomes the Buzz Lightyear to my Woody and I collect dust underneath your bed, just as long as you finally declare your love for my kind!
Admit it, life with me has changed you. You no longer get back aches from the overloaded crossbody or struggle to get the mini backpack over your bulky winter coat. By the way, don’t think I’m not taking it personally that you’ll proudly show off ANOTHER 90’s purse trend but are embarrassed by me. If Cher Horowitz wore a fanny pack in Clueless, we wouldn’t be having this argument today.
If you’ll recall, no one in the airport seemed to judge you when you took me on a cross-country flight. You loaded me up with tissues, gum and extra masks (for a necessary mid-flight switch once yours got damp and started smelling like old pepperoni.) It was convenient AF for you to tuck into your waistline and have something you needed at a moment’s notice without schlepping your backpack out from underneath the seat in front of you and inevitably knocking it off your shins and pissing off your seatmate. You know what I always say, flying with me is like flying first class — minus the champagne and extra legroom.
And I hate to be the one to bring it up because I know it’s a touchy subject, but you never would’ve lost your wallet and had to cancel all your cards last Fall if you had used me. Pockets are only superior when you find them in a cute sundress otherwise they’re completely useless. Sorry, someone had to say it. At least I’ve got a zipper.
Now if only you’ll let me be free to shine and not keep me cloaked in shame, tucked underneath your baggy sweatshirt. Let out your inner Kimmy Gibbler, buckle me on loud and proud and shout out your best war cry of “Hola Tanneritos!” Cover me in the Lisa Frank stickers you claimed to have gotten for your niece. Go crazy! Just promise me you’ll never pair me with low-rise flare jeans and kitten heels because that would be MORTIFYING.