Because I’m a sucker for nostalgia, I decided to give The Carrie Diaries another try. But about five minutes into the second episode, I realized why this show is a giant heaping pile of dreck – the wardrobe department sucks. It’s like they’re not even trying. There she is, a teenaged Carrie Bradshaw, yapping on an era-appropriate phone and sporting a sweater that is currently loitering on the sale rack at the Gap. Seriously? You’re the wardrobe department of a primetime television show on a major (second rate) network, and rather than, you know, do your job, you fall into the Gap!?! That’s it. I’m done. The Carrie Diaries is beyond terrible.

by

Her hair. That’s not how people wore it in 1984. It’s just not big enough. Poof was king, and that involved lots of layers. And no one with a pink bedroom would have a Joy Division poster. Or, rather, no one with a Joy Division poster would be caught dead in a pink bedroom. Also, eyebrows. The makeup is overall too subtle. Makeup in 1984 was harsh–blues and yellows and bright pink cheeks, with that frosted light pink lip gloss that looked white at certain angles. And neon. Sometimes, eyelids were neon.

And can we talk about jeans? They are too tight and too low rise. And the sweaters are too…small. 1984 was oversized. Big, baggy, sweaters. They came down to your knees, almost.

Oh, and the love interest? It’s a nice try with the floppy hair, but that’s not 1984 floppy hair. It needs to be angular. And Carrie’s friends look straight out of Urban Outfitters circa 2006. Actually, that may be where the wardrobe department gets its clothing. Nobody wore hoodies in 1984. Nobody.

Can we talk about shoes? Here’s what I wore in 1984: Converse high-tops (one pink, one yellow); Keds (no laces); Doc Martens (black, of course); another pair of black boots; yet another pair of black boots.  And that’s it. So whatever rust-colored-slingbacks Carrie has on her feet, it’s wrong.

And before anyone says But maybe this is what 1984 was like for Carrie! No. I was there, and certain things about the suburbs of New York City are universal. Where are the scrunchies? And the banana clips? Where are the shoulder pads? Where are the asymmetrical haircuts?

Speaking of New York City, it doesn’t fare much better. Downtown is…clean. Pristine, even. And ugh, Indochine. Really? A brightly colored pop dance party? I can’t. I just can’t.

After watching The Carrie Diaries, I feel like I owe 1984 an apology.

by