In 1987 I was nine years old. My older sisters were finishing high school, and through them I had access to the best of 80s culture — movies, music and the trademarkly enormous hair. I don’t think I’m alone in my affection for that decade, even though I wasn’t the typical angsty teen of the era.
For me, the 80s evoke long summer days in my childhood neighborhood: riding bikes with friends to the local pool, swimming for hours while music played, and feeding quarters into vending machines my mom gave me money for. Afternoons and evenings were for watching movies or TV with my sisters, and those simple routines stayed with me.
I never considered myself the kind of girl to form celebrity crushes in childhood or adolescence. I enjoyed movies, but I didn’t attach myself to characters — or at least I didn’t think I did. That changed a few weeks ago when Andrew McCarthy stepped onto the stage at the Iris Awards. In an instant I was twelve again, giggling and cheering like a kid.
Credit: Michael Cummings
OMG It’s Andrew McCarthy!!!
Part of knowing your audience is surprising them with what they didn’t know they wanted. That’s exactly what Mom 2.0 did throughout the conference, and one of those surprises was Andrew. But first: the Iris Awards themselves are simply fun. I love being in a room with friends and peers celebrating our work. Last week I wrote about wanting a seat at the table — and the truth is, I have one. Whether this blog reaches big numbers or not, I show up, I contribute, and I encourage others on their journeys. More than that, I’m building memories, and memories are powerful — as I was reminded that night at the Ritz-Carlton.
After the awards, I stood at the bar with my friend (and boss) Dina and noticed Andrew McCarthy casually taking photos. Nothing could stop me from walking over — I felt giddy. It was impulsive and a little ridiculous, but I had to say hello. Before I knew it I blurted, “I know I’m supposed to say Pretty in Pink but OH MY GOSH I loved you in Mannequin!” He smiled, said “Oh, thank you,” posed for a picture, and that was that.
Mannequin, you guys. I probably watched that movie a hundred times as a tween and teen, and it somehow grew more charming with each viewing. Maybe it was the character, maybe the style, maybe the shoes — it doesn’t really matter. The point is I rediscovered a part of myself I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I’ve laughed about the encounter since, wondering why I had to leave my drink at the bar to say hello. But that spontaneous fangirl moment reminded me of the silly, wholehearted side I haven’t tapped into in years. For five minutes I was that unabashed kid again — singing loud, dreaming big, laughing with my head thrown back — and it felt wonderful.
That girl — the one with big dreams and an artist’s curiosity — is still here. She’s achieved many things, and sometimes it’s easy to ignore the dreams already fulfilled while chasing the next goal. The encounter wasn’t about Andrew McCarthy as a celebrity; it was about how nostalgia can pull you back to your younger self. He’s done remarkable work since his 80s heartthrob days, and now, like many of us, he’s living a life filled with family and everyday responsibilities.
Nostalgia works like revisiting an old neighborhood or tasting a dessert you haven’t had since your grandmother passed. It reconnects you with emotions and moments you thought were gone. That night at the Iris Awards, nostalgia arrived in the form of Andrew McCarthy.
Inspiration 2.0
I call Mom 2.0 an inspirational conference because it does more than teach skills. It creates space to dig into the why behind our goals. I want a seat at the table — but why? My why is that nine-year-old who believed the world was full of possibility: curious, creative and loud with dreams. It’s my husband, who married a woman with ideas and humor. It’s our two boys, growing up fast. They need me present and alive, not a robotic version of obligation.
Responsibility matters, but so does keeping a spark of youth alive. That spark helps us through the hard days, teaches the next generation resilience and joy, and keeps us connected and creative. I didn’t expect to walk away from Mom 2.0 with this reminder, but my biggest takeaway was that being myself — silly and unapologetic — felt incredible. I can promise I was as ridiculous as I sounded, and it was worth it. As Jonathan Switcher said, “I’m not lying. I’m insane.”
Be silly with me. Tell me the last time you tapped into your playful side in the comments below.