I, like many children of the ’90s, grew up on the 1994 version of Miracle on 34th Street. You know the one, Wilma Flinstone is Matilda’s mom and Dylan McDermott Mulroney is the next-door neighbour Mr. Bedford.
In light of it being, well, Christmas, here are a few of the ways this wonderful ’90s flick gave me unrealistic expectations about being an adult:
- First of all, let’s start with Mr. Bedford. I assumed when I grew up the world would be filled with Mr. Bedfords. Kind, considerate, handsome men with smooth voices, fantastic turtleneck collections and impeccable hair. Unfortunately, the adult world seems to be composed of mostly hoodies and man buns.
- My life has never been as well-lit as Wilma’s. Her always-flawless hair and the soft lighting that halos her perfect ‘dos have not shown up in my wash-and-wear hair reality and harsh florescently lit life.
- I do not own a pair of silk lounge pants in the same Nancy Meyers cream as my nonexistent cable knit cardigan collection. I feel like my adult life is incomplete without them.
- Wilma Flinstone’s financial reality has thus far been difficult to emulate. The Christmas bonus this single mom is hoping for – from a company that was nearly bought out, I might add – would be enough for her to purchase a beautiful house on property in the New York area. Are you kidding me?
- And speaking of homes, her apartment is insanely beautiful. How much does a department store executive make? Are there any job openings? How do I ensure Mr. Bedford is my neighbour?
The only thing about adulthood as seen in this movie that I’ve been able to achieve is the collection of beautiful coats, but that’s mostly because I have a weakness and I’ve be able to find some pretty fantastic sales.
Just Comma, 