Thursday’s Spirit Week theme proved one thing: the 1990s had opinions about style, and none of them were subtle
The 1990s were anything but a subtle decade. This was a time that looked at minimalism and said “absolutely not.” A time when bigger was better, brighter was best, and pattern-mixing wasn’t just acceptable – it was mandatory. Thursday at St. Ignatius College became a living museum of these choices, and honestly? We have questions. So many questions.
But first, let’s talk about what we witnessed.
Visual Assault (Affectionate)
We got to see a denim-on-denim ensemble so committed to the bit that even tuxedo enthusiasts might have suggested restraint, scrunchies multiplied like rabbits, platform shoes defied both gravity and good judgment. Some remarkably bold students wore backwards caps, and a wallet chain that could probably be heard from the US embassy. Multiple students discovered that butterfly clips are, in fact, still being manufactured somewhere, possibly by people who also have questions about the decade.
Staff members who lived through the 90s also gave us a glimpse of a life many of us can only appreciate vicariously through them. They wore suits several sizes too big, jeans that could parachute an elephant, and strode with the confidence and joy of their youth.
When the Spice Girls Met Tupac
The afternoon playlist was a masterclass in 90s eclecticism. A truly nostalgic selection of 90s music that could’ve only been made better with the addition of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You” (or was that Whitney Houston? Honestly, the 90s were confusing). It was fascinating to see students who weren’t even born when these songs charted sing every single word.
The Nostalgia Trap (And Why We Fell Into It Anyway)
Here’s the thing about themed decades: they’re inherently ridiculous. We’re asking people to reduce ten complex years of global culture, politics, and social change into outfit choices and playlist curation. The 90s were Mandela’s release from prison and the Rwandan genocide. They were the dawn of the internet and the continuation of apartheid’s aftermath. They were economic transformation and political upheaval across the African continent.
And yes, they were also the Spice Girls and questionable fashion choices.
Spirit Week’s 90s Day didn’t pretend to capture all that complexity – nor should it have. Instead, it offered something more valuable: permission to be joyfully, unapologetically silly. To dress in ways that make no practical sense. To dance to songs that are older than our Form 1 students. To laugh at ourselves and with each other.
The Pattern in the Madness
Four days into Spirit Week, a rhythm grows evident. Monday celebrated our loyalties. Tuesday examined our roles. Wednesday honored our heritage. Thursday? Thursday reminded us not to take ourselves too seriously. That sometimes the point is just to have fun, wear ridiculous clothes, and dance to music that is unequivocally timeless.
Community needs both depth and levity. We need days that make us think and days that just make us laugh. We need moments of cultural pride and moments of cultural absurdity.
We need butterfly clips and bucket hats alongside meaningful conversations about identity and belonging.
One More Day
The final day of Spirit Week looms. A week that’s been equal parts exhausting and exhilarating. Whatever theme awaits, it has a tough act to follow. Because Thursday gave us something rare: collective joy untethered from achievement or purpose.
We didn’t learn any profound lessons besides the fact that platform shoes remain uncomfortable regardless of decade. We didn’t solve complex problems or engage in deep reflection. We just showed up, dressed absurdly, danced enthusiastically, and remembered that sometimes the best thing a community can do is simply enjoy being together.
The 90s may have had questionable taste, but they understood something we’re still learning: life’s too short to wear boring clothes and listen to boring music.
Tomorrow, we’ll find out what Spirit Week had in store for its grand finale. But last night, somewhere in Lusaka, a teacher carefully packed their hipster pants, a student took a fake band-aid off their face and everyone was just a little bit sad that we can’t dress like that every day.
Which is probably for the best. Our eyes need a rest.