We Were The Wild(ish) Generation
‘Trainwreck: Woodstock ‘99’ felt familiar
This is 7-minute read. I hope it helps you sit back, take a moment to yourself, and remember your own teen days.
Parts of the 90s were fantastic….But I also look back and feel sorry for ‘90s kids. At times, our lack of boundaries and sense of entitlement caused a lot of harm, and so many things were swept under the rug. So many things were hidden away and not talked about.
Watching the Netflix documentary Trainwreck: Woodstock ‘99, it felt very familiar. Not that I was there. I live in New Zealand, and have never been to a 3-day festival, but I know ‘90s teenagers. I was one of them. And the anarchy at Woodstock was just a more exaggerated version of what life was like for me in the 90s.
I was a good little Christian girl and even I was stealing wine from my mum at 16, getting drunk, and making out with strangers. It’s surprising I didn’t get hurt that night. A few years later, drinking with friends, I wasn’t so lucky. That night ended badly, and the repercussions echoed through my life in ways I didn’t recognise until years later.
We were wild(ish) and 1999 gave us permission to be.
Every week was a party in my teens and early 20s. I was not a party-girl by any means, it’s just how everyone spent time with their friends and met new people. We certainly weren’t living the free-love psychedelic days of our parents – they defined wild – but we had our own flavor of limitlessness.
We were social en masse, not online. Our house parties piled up with sweaty bodies, and flowed out onto the street, a live band blasting from the lounge. Couches belonged on the porch or the roof. A visit from noise control was the cue to head into town. That seemed like a safe kind of rebellion.
At high school, I was hassled for being “pure” because I didn’t do drugs or sleep around. It left me with mixed feelings. I didn’t want to be excluded, but I also didn’t want to take the higher risks some of my friends were: the orgies or acid trip raves. I turned down the pills secretly offered in the schoolyard, trying to seem like it wasn’t a big deal: “Nah, I’m sorted already.” But I was sneaking into nightclubs by 16, like everyone else. We roamed the city streets, meeting up with people, kissing in dark corners. Dancing, eating, driving around in cars going nowhere.
At music festivals and concerts, we made a full day of it. We pressed up against strangers in the mosh pit, drinking, stripping down to the bare minimum in the heat; our backless spaghetti strapped tops a second skin rather than clothing. The drunkest girls perched on their boyfriends’ shoulders and lifted their tops to flash the band.
While Radiohead played, my friend crowd-surfed involuntarily, hundreds of hands reaching up her tiny skirt until she was passed over the barrier at the front. The mosh pit surged, like floating garbage on a tide. Injured kids were dragged out to waiting ambulances. The band stopped playing and threatened to end the show, but no-one paid much attention. At U2, the loud guys in the crowd got naked, threw themselves around in bouncing circles. Rubbed themselves up against the nearest young woman, not caring if she was into it or not.
We didn’t think about it too much, just laughed it off. We had no worries except who was dating who. What marks you got at uni or school. What to wear to the next party. The world wasn’t burning. The climate wasn’t in crisis. There were no Vietnam or Gaza wars to rally against. We cared about feeling good and having fun.
This year, I booked general admission tickets for a Foo Fighters concert — something I haven’t done in over 20 years. My last experience in a mosh pit hadn’t been good. At the Radiohead concert in my 20s, dozens of kids were trampled and injured. I was knocked over and heading for the same fate, but was thankfully saved by one of my taller male friends who lifted me up and protected me from the surging crowd. Understandably, I was nervous to be back in a packed concert space.
Once there, my fears were quickly dispelled. My husband and I were surrounded by the sweetness of Gen Z. Phones high, standing perfectly still as if rooted to the earth, they recorded their mosh pit experience. I felt completely safe. The only people causing trouble were a couple in their 50s trying to shove their way to the front.
The younger crowd, rather than losing themselves in a drunken frenzy they’d forget later, were excited but calm. Just enjoying the band. A large guy in front of me stepped back slightly, then apologized. Behind me, a group of teens in full black leather and chains, their faces pierced with silver, chatted politely with us. A young couple adopted my husband and me as their new best friends and led us (without shoving) closer to the front. The people drinking were less ‘90s-wasted and more backyard-chill-with-friends.
Only one guy got naked.
In ‘99, we’d been told the world would collapse when all the computers’ clocks switched to 2000. The adults were freaking out about the Y2K bug, handing out brochures encouraging us to stockpile food and water. The banks would close, the power would cut off, transport would stop. We’d be plunged into chaos, they said. That sounded awesome. We wanted the world to fall apart.
Our mild brand of wildness wasn’t an angry or justice-pursuing kind. We weren’t standing up for anything. Our megaphones weren’t used to protest injustice. I think watching Woodstock ’99 that’s an easy interpretation to make—angry mob of alcohol and drug fueled ‘90s kids destroying the place. Literally watching it burn.
Very clearly, there were things to be mad about. Most of the fault lay with the organizers at Woodstock. There was nowhere near enough security. The living conditions were filthy, it was hot, and clean water was hard to access. Food and drinks were overpriced. That combination would make anyone upset. You can see from the footage they’re annoyed. But it’s not life or death. They’re loving it. They’re loving an excuse to go full Lord of the Flies.
In the ‘90s, I joined in rocking out to Rage Against the Machine. I was angsty and into my alternative music, like a lot of us were. But in reality, we didn’t have much to rage against. Not like the teens before and after us.
I was in Melbourne this week and saw thousands—mostly young people—marching and yelling in protest against the war in Gaza. The only protest I was part of in my twenties was against rising university fees. In the ‘90s, the world was relatively safe and peaceful, at least it was for white middle-class kids. Especially for white middle-class guys. Our problems were mostly personal. Our parents were divorced and busy. They left us independent and unsupervised. We were limitless. Entitled. The world was ours.
And we wanted it all. But it came with a cost.
Parts of the ‘90s were fantastic. Watching my kids grow up, I often think about how different things are now and sometimes I wish they could experience more of what I did — free of the internet and social media demands, free of worries about the world and the future. Less anxious. Feeling less pressure to be so responsible all the time.
We worked hard, but we laughed more than teenagers seem to now. We definitely moved more. There were summers when my friends and I played social touch rugby or swam at the beach for hours. We spent all weekend outside, biking, swimming, hanging out. We felt safe to come and go, as if home was just a base to keep our clothes. I’d love more of that for my kids.
But I also look back and feel sorry for ‘90s kids. At times, our lack of boundaries and sense of entitlement caused a lot of harm, and so many things were swept under the rug. So many things were hidden away and not talked about. Girls were assaulted and kept it secret. This happened at Woodstock to several girls. It also happened to me in my early 20s drinking at a party but, because I didn’t understand consent, I had no idea it was even rape. Like thousands of other girls, I felt embarrassed and stayed silent.
In the ‘90s, there was no tolerance for differences either. People were mocked for being gay, or for choosing not to drink or sleep around. Bullying was funny and telling someone about it made you a narc. Couldn’t you take a joke? Boys don’t cry. Girls don’t speak up. If you’re sad, drink, and laugh, and shove it down until you don’t feel it anymore.
And we still had to get As in class, hold down part-time jobs, win awards, be successful, aim for the high-powered careers we were expected to want. No wonder, whenever the opportunity arose, like at Woodstock, ‘90s kids partied and raged and messed stuff up.
Woodstock ’99 was the pinnacle (or perhaps rock-bottom) of those boundary-less years of the ’90s and early 2000s. In the face of Y2K and pending disaster, we made a joke of it and partied harder. We wanted to watch the world burn. Now, in 2024, we have a new generation who wants healthy boundaries that make the world better. Boundaries that protect vulnerable people and the environment.
As far as I can tell, Gen Z is ready for the world to stop burning. I fully support that.
Think how thoseof ys who graduated from High School in 1969 feel!