90's Vibes and Why We Will Likely Never Get It Back

The Magic of Growing Up in the '90s

One thing I absolutely love is that I grew up in the ’90s. Like, really grew up in the ’90s—not just born in 1992 and calling myself a “’90s baby,” but actually old enough to experience and remember it. I was born in 1985, which meant that by 1990, I was four going on five, fully present for everything the decade was about to bring. And thank God for that.

I grew up in a time that was perfectly sandwiched between the world we have now and the world that used to be—a balance of simplicity and cutting-edge, where old-school ’80s met new-school ’90s. Fresh, as we used to say. As far as I’m concerned, I’m still that kid who ran outside the second I got home. I’d fake-finish my “homework,” swap out my school clothes for my “outside” clothes, and be the first one out the door, knowing I wouldn’t be back anytime soon. If I was lucky, I had 50 cents to a dollar—just enough for a “snowball” from Ms. Such-and-Such or a trip to the local Candy Lady. I’d knock on my friend’s door, asking if she could come outside because fun like that was never meant to be had alone.

We had no plans, nowhere to be, and nowhere to go—and somehow, that was the most fun we ever had. Kids in the ’90s were free and instinctively knew how to exist with friends or within themselves. We didn’t wait for fun to happen; we created the vibes.

But What Does That Really Mean?

Saying you grew up in the ’90s before the internet, cell phones, and social media doesn’t just mean your childhood photos are safely stored in a shoebox instead of floating around on Facebook. It means we were the last free-range generation—the kids who had to invent fun because entertainment wasn’t just a tap away.

Before there were memes, we were the memes. We reenacted entire scenes from our favorite TV shows on the playground, complete with dramatic pauses and poorly executed backflips. Before TikTok challenges, we made up our own absurd dares—like racing our bikes down steep hills with zero regard for our skin or spinal health. Before FaceTime, we showed up to each other’s houses unannounced, knocking on doors like we were living in a Jane Austen novel, asking, “Can Amanda come outside?”

And because we didn’t have cell phones, there was no frantic texting or digital tracking. Parents’ idea of a “find my kid” feature was screaming our names into the neighborhood air and waiting for a distant “WHAT?!” in response. Our curfew wasn’t a notification—it was the streetlights flickering on, which, let’s be honest, we often ignored anyway.

Our version of social media was passing notes in class, writing long, dramatic messages about absolutely nothing, only to fold them into the most intricate paper footballs before risking our entire academic standing just to get them across the room. Our “likes” were literal—when we liked something, we said it, usually while swinging upside down on the monkey bars or stuffing our faces with whatever snack we scrounged up from the bottom of our backpacks.

We weren’t checking notifications—we were present. Every moment was ours to create, to live, to remember. We weren’t glued to screens, endlessly scrolling, waiting for someone else to entertain us. We were the entertainment.

The ’90s: When Community Was the Algorithm

If you grew up in the ’90s, you know that vibes weren’t just something we curated with a Spotify playlist or a well-lit Instagram feed. They were something we built, brick by brick, friend by friend, with the people around us. The ’90s had a sense of community that was the foundation of every adventure, every summer night, every impromptu game of kickball that somehow lasted for hours. Something I don’t think the YNs and Crash Outs could ever fathom.

Before there were online groups and Discord servers connecting us based on interests, there was real-life proximity. Your best friends weren’t found through carefully calculated social media algorithms; they were the kids who lived on your street, sat next to you in class, or happened to be outside at the same time as you. If you were lucky, you had an older cousin or sibling who let you tag along—the golden ticket to the most exclusive (but also wildly unstructured) social scene available. We weren’t checking timestamps to see when someone was “last active.” We knew exactly where everyone was because we saw them. Someone’s bike abandoned in a front yard? That was basically a geotag. The sound of a basketball dribbling down the street? That meant the game was ON. And if one person had a backyard trampoline, you could bet the entire neighborhood would magically migrate there like it was an unspoken rule of childhood physics.

And because there was no texting or Snapchat to pre-plan hangouts, everything was spontaneous. Knock on someone’s door? Congratulations, you just started a group outing. No money? No problem—someone’s mom was making Kool-Aid, and if you got hungry, you’d just raid a friend’s pantry like it was your own. Plans weren’t posted or RSVP’d to; they happened.

The sense of community wasn’t just about fun—it was about safety, too. There was always an unspoken neighborhood watch happening. The older kids looked out for the younger ones, and every adult had full clearance to yell at you if you were acting up. Everyone’s parents had everyone’s parents’ phone numbers, which meant there was no such thing as sneaky behavior—just delayed consequences.

Why YNs and Crash Outs Could Never Recreate ’90s Vibes

Listen, I get it. Every generation wants to think they had it the best, but when it comes to the ’90s? We actually did. And no offense to the YNs (Young N****s) and Crash Outs of today, but y’all could never recreate the vibes we once knew. Not because you’re doing anything wrong—but because the world you grew up in just isn’t built the same.

First off, we didn’t have the luxury of endless entertainment at our fingertips. There was no TikTok, no viral challenges to follow, no algorithm feeding us exactly what we wanted to see. We had to make the fun. We invented inside jokes that weren’t based on memes but on actual shared experiences. We weren’t doing dumb stuff just for clout—we were doing dumb stuff because it seemed like a good idea at the time. (And let’s be real, half of it was definitely not a good idea.)

And speaking of clout, that’s the biggest reason today’s generation could never recreate the ’90s magic. Back then, nobody was recording every little thing, waiting to go viral. Our wins and Ls? They were private. If you fell off your bike in front of everybody, you got roasted in the moment, but by the next day, it was just another funny memory. No one was replaying it on Snapchat for weeks. We were out here living, not constantly branding ourselves.

But the biggest thing that separates us? The outside. We lived outside. The house wasn’t somewhere we stayed; it was a place we checked into when we absolutely had to. Today’s generation? If their phone dies, their whole social life dies with it.

The ’90s were special because they existed in a time before digital distractions diluted our experiences. We lived in the moment, embraced spontaneity, and built connections based on presence, not profiles. The magic of the ’90s can’t be recreated, not because today’s generation isn’t trying, but because the world is simply different now.

And that’s okay. Every generation has its own culture, its own trends, and its own way of connecting. But for those of us who lived it, the ’90s will always be more than just a decade. It was a feeling—one of freedom, adventure, and genuine connection. It wasn’t just a vibe.

It was real life.