After a mere 10 days on Netflix, Britney Spears’ 22-year-old movie Crossroads had amassed 3.7 million views. I contributed modestly to that number one evening last month.
It was no premeditated viewing. Instead I was glad to have Netflix suggest something easy right away. I was cooking black beans and rice for dinner, and situated my lap top on a stack of books on the counter. The best movies for cooking and clean-up are nostalgic romcoms, like 13 Going on 30 and Along Came Polly. In other words, the films I watched as a young teen in the early aughts.
What’s most delightful about these rewatches is the way they light up old memories. Sometimes it feels like my entire now-brain gets replaced by my then-brain for a split second. I’m a time traveler via set designs and soundtrack cues.
As I queued the movie up on my lap top, I was prepared for such nostalgic pleasures. I saw Crossroads when it came out, probably by way of a DVD on loan from the library, or maybe the Hollywood Video down the road. I remembered a convertible car, Britney in bell sleeves, the way my mom made fun of the lyrics to the song.
Other than that, I didn’t know what to expect. The plots of these dinner-prep rewatches are never the point. It’s the details I’m after, which I would file away unconsciously for life inspo. Jennifer Anniston’s boho apartment in Along Came Polly. Drew Barrymore’s little coffee shop routine in 50 First Dates. Kate Bosworth’s messy devotion to surfing in Blue Crush.
When Crossroads came out in 2002, I was 12 years old and in love with a greasy-haired kid named Alecs. I tried my hardest to get the right Adidas shoes to make me look cool in my school uniform, to apply my Lip Smackers lipgloss religiously, and to flirt effectively. But despite my efforts, I was bullied on the regular. The fine, dark hair that shadowed my upper lip became the bane of my existence. My pre-pubescent mustache seemed to indicate to my classmates, and therefore to myself, that I myself was not a girl, nor a woman.
Who among us was not bullied in middle school? It seems trivial and dismissible, yet for years I feared the androgyny sometimes brought out by my dark features. And in those early days, I thought nothing could save me from my disgraceful place in our small sixth grade class except for the devotion of platonic friends or a romantic partner. I understood committed relationships such as these to be the only shields against cruelty. Entering a spoken Best Friends Forever contract would, I thought, set me up for a lifetime of protection.
Crossroads reflected this idea of unbreakable bonds back to me. Britney’s character Lucy has an unlikely reunion with her childhood besties. Why? Because they promised to meet in the cemetery after graduation and dig up their time capsule. And a promise is a promise.
Then, when it surfaces that they all have good reason to run off to California together, they face their hardships side by side. Hardships that are much heavier than a pre-teen girl’s facial hair, but that are nevertheless conquerable in part because they’re in it together.
I didn’t remember any of this about the film, but as I watched and waited for the black beans to finish in the pressure cooker, all of my girlish, hopeful expectations came back to me. Need money? Just kill it at karaoke—your friends are your built-in backup singers. Looking for love? Pursue the brooding hottie with a mysterious past. He will have a back tattoo and you will make love in an oceanside hotel. It will all work out.
Doesn’t this sound familiar? From some angles it looks like my life is an amalgamation of the movies I watched when I was a wee teen. And look at me now—I’m like Lucy carrying around a little notebook and waiting to be asked what I’m writing. Maybe all I need is for someone to discover my poem, pair it with a melody, and I will be ready to start my life of fame in sunny California.