‘Pretty In Pink’ 40th Anniversary: Celebrating Individuality

At 9 years old, I pulled my mom’s polka-dotted turtleneck sweater up over my legs, and tied the arms tight around my tiny waist like a belt. Growing up, I often turned my mother’s clothing into weird fashion devices. I was also a natural redhead, always the only one in my class and had few ginger-haired role models. The ones I did have, like Pippi Longstocking and Anne of Green Gables, were characters who had a defining trait I recognized: eccentricity.

They had agency over their individuality. But I struggled to make mine feel like a strength rather than a shortcoming. As a child, I begged my mom to let me dye my hair blonde.

“Don’t you know women pay to get your hair color?” she huffed. My bright hair made me stand out. What I wanted then was to blend in with everyone else.

That is, until I saw “Pretty in Pink” and began to understand the things that made me different held more power than I realized. As Andy Walsh, Molly Ringwald embodied a girl I recognized. I was several years younger, but identified with the wavy, red-haired misfit, with freckles like mine and an unapologetic style. Eleven years before Cher chose her outfit from a computer program and plucked it from a rotating closet in “Clueless,” Andy practiced a similar, more relatable ritual. She emerges on screen wearing a dark vest over a white lace blouse, belted pencil skirt, cameo necklace and socks over tights.

“$15 for the shoes, secondhand, I made the rest,” she replies when her dad marvels at her “latest creation” and wonders about the cost. At school, her outcast best friend Duckie (uniquely stylish himself with a bolero tie and blazer) lovingly calls her outfit a “volcanic ensemble.” But the same wardrobe is later ridiculed in class by the rich, blonde popular girl.

Andy captivated me. She was cool, and nonconformist, and she was friends with her eccentric older boss, Ilona, the owner of Trax Record Store, who had her own funky, ever-changing look. But Andy struggled to fit in with wealthier classmates and sought to find her place. It’s a belonging we strive for through our lives, and a recurring theme in John Hughes films, including “The Breakfast Club” and “Sixteen Candles.” Embracing the truest version of yourself is ultimately the message of “Pretty in Pink.”

Growing up, my single mother worked overtime to send me to private school. I was privileged to be there. Yet, I still compared myself to other students and friends with apartments and lifestyles that paled in comparison to my own.

When Andy falls for Blane (Andrew McCarthy, in his prime) — a rich, preppy and handsome student at her school, it ignites both butterflies and self-shame. On their first date, an argument ensues when she admits she doesn’t want him to see her home. Unlike Andy, I wasn’t ashamed of where I lived. New York City’s East Village, just blocks from my school, was hardly the “wrong side of the tracks.” But I recognized Andy’s reflex to separate herself from others by magnifying what made her different.

Years later, and single, I attached similar parallels to dating. I preemptively deemed myself too eccentric for Blane-type men. I was a Jewish redhead who wore tutus with t-shirts and sneakers. What would that kind of guy want with me? I undermined my self-worth rather than leading with confidence.

Differences in social construct, class and culture also kept Andy and Blane in separate corners of the world. But when they meet and connect, it shakes loose the foundation of those barriers and preconceived notions. Breaking out of their fixed labels for each other was an act of not only love, but also courage.

Andy Walsh was the first time I saw myself in a character. She gave me validation that, as a tween, was imperative. For once, the redhead wasn’t just the spunky sidekick, solely defined by feistiness. She was a layered protagonist (though yes, eccentric still) who was independent, but also craved affection and attention. From suitor Blane, her struggling alcoholic single father and Duckie, whose unrequited love she’s annoyed by, yet unwilling to let go, or acknowledge.

I idolized the teenager’s persona, inspired by how she created her fashion, and the fearlessness with which she showcased it. Even that controversial final prom dress. As a teen, I thrifted endlessly for costume jewelry, lace up granny booties and clothing to deconstruct.

In my 20s, alone after long nights out, I fell asleep to my “Pretty in Pink” DVD every weekend. The flickering glow of the screen and the iconic New Wave soundtrack, turned down, was like my own comforting sound machine.

Andy’s refusal to cave to societal norms, and the popular, wealthy Steff (a young James Spader playing sleaze to perfection) made her real and fearless. When Blane succumbs to pressure from Steff and backs out of taking Andy to the senior prom, she attends alone. Of course, the two reconnect with a passionate kiss in the movie’s final moments. “Pretty in Pink” is a classic rom-com, but it’s also a story about being brave enough to find love and validation within oneself.

For me, and others navigating their way, Andy, Duckie, and Ilona were templates for embracing one’s eccentricities. Seeing them lean into their differences made me believe I could do the same, and started me down the windy path of self-acceptance.

I’d once believed fitting in was more beneficial than being original. Now, 45, and a first-time mother, I know that uniqueness should be highlighted, not hidden. I eventually found my own Prince Charming. Someone whose predilections toward weird matched my own like a puzzle piece.

For the 40th anniversary, “Pretty in Pink” returned to theaters for three days, to the joy of Gen Xers everywhere. The re-release includes a short documentary from director Howard Deutch. The acclaimed music — which includes Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark’s hit song, “If You Leave” — is also being celebrated with a vinyl reissue.

Forty years later, being weird is more universal. People showcase their oddities for all to see on a daily basis. Red hair is less unique, and women pay for spray-on freckles. It’s a reminder that the movie’s message — going against the grain is one of the bravest things you can do — is more timely than ever.

It’s something I hope to teach my almost 2-year-old daughter one day, too. If her favorite pastime — wearing my pink beret and oversized scarves and necklaces — are any indication, she’s on the right track.

This essay is part of HuffPost’s series “This Made Me,” a collection of stories about the pop culture that moves us.