Before we begin our descent into early-'90s fashion hell, I'd like to thank everyone who contributed to the Tubey's Kids Hurricane Katrina fundraising drive. Your generosity is amazing, but -- since I've seen it many times over the years -- not surprising. You rock. In fact? You rawk. Yeah, I said it. Speaking of rawking, I'd also like to thank the staff for participating and doing their customary rad job on the Extras. And finally, on the not-rawking-at-all tip, I'd like to thank God we don't dress like we did fifteen years ago anymore, because damn. By which I mean daaaaaamn.
Okay, the 90210 pilot. So, remember Brenda and Dylan's first date, when he wore that acid-washed duster and got all screamy and smashed a planter and then started crying like a big sucky baby? And remember when Brandon's girlfriend from Minnesota ran away/"came to visit" and deflowered him and then told him he's a wonderful lover -- in front of his parents? Yeah, I thought both of those awesome scenes were actually in the pilot, but they aren't, which is a bummer for us all...but Brandon's mullet is in it with a vengeance, and that's the first thing we see as the series begins. Well, actually, it's the third thing. First we see a suburban home that isn't the Casa Walsh we all remember, and then we pan across Brandon's room, expositionally strewn with moving boxes, and then we see the mullet, nestled on an amoeba-patterned International-Male-catalog pillowcase. Birds chirp helpfully on the soundtrack. Brandon's alarm goes off, and it's some sort of Rube Goldberg monster-head contraption rigged to the actual clock that croaks "wake up, wake up" over and over again until Brandon turns it off with a...remote? Brandon then uses the remote to turn on his stereo, and as it blasts generic early-'90s "rock," Brandon "Reagan Hair-a" Walsh sleepily drops some pilot-backstory science on us: "First day of school...strange city...new house, no friends...I'm psyched." Then he buries his face in the International Pillow, the better to give the viewing audience a profile shot of the mullet, which is feathered into a meticulous ducktail along his neck.
Now is probably as good a time as any to mention that I watched this pilot when it first aired fifteen years ago, and with a few extreme exceptions, this is, in fact, how we dressed, so when I pause mid-plotline to catalog an entire hallway's worth of horrendous outfits, understand that it's in the service of purging old demons. Demons in baby-doll dresses, over bike shorts, with puffy white socks and faux-patent brogans that laced up with grosgrain ribbon.