Crushes. Oh, yes. I’ve had a few. (Hundred). I was that teenage girl who didn’t feel it was enough to love from afar. I needed to have the object of my crush close by. Like in-my-bedroom kind of close. It’s okay, I never actually paid any attention to ordinary boys. If they weren’t in the magazine’s I wasn’t interested. Between the years 1986 and 1993 my walls were never bare. My bedroom walls reflected the crush du jour. Let me also add that I was not a fickle admirer, and many of their faces stuck around for years. And as for being faithful, well, let’s just say lots of them overlapped.

So I thought for this week’s flashback Friday we could take a trip down memory lane, and have a laugh or three at some of the “what WAS I thinking” moments. Don’t forget to head over to The Camera Chronicles, the brain child behind this Flashback Friday link up. And while you’re there make sure to check out the other links, there are some really great people joining in on this. 

Believe it or not my first crush was actually pretty cool. Back in the very early 80′s I thought Debbie Harry was the most amazing creature I had ever seen. I have foggy memories of skinny black leather jeans and of course that blonde hair. (I wonder if I may have confused her with Olivia Newton John?) I did have very high hopes of growing up to look just like her. As you do.

A few short years later after receiving a brand spanking new double LP soundtrack of Grease for Christmas it was all about John Travolta. I painstakingly collected pictures from magazines for my scrapbook, which took effort and dedication since his career was at an all time low and he wasn’t actually IN any magazines. I also had a list of questions ready for when I interviewed him. Not that I was delusional at all, just prepared.

So it makes perfect sense that after Mr Travolta the next cab off the rank would obviously be… Prince. By now it was 1986 and everything was purple. There was twelve year old me singing all the words to Darling Nikki and Erotic City. Loud. And wishing my entire wardrobe could be purple. For when, you know, I bumped into his purple highness on my way to school. I also refused to acknowledge how short he really was, and insisted that a man wearing high heeled boots was perfectly normal.

The late 80′s were also the days of the brat pack, and the man for me was Rob Lowe. He was the first of my pretty boys, but not the last. He WAS the prettiest though. Thank god for video shops, so I could watch Youngblood and St Elmo’s Fire over and over and over again. I even watched Hotel New Hampshire, which was a really shit movie. Total dedication, that was me. Eventually he went and got busted with his whole sex tape scandal, and the whole sex-underage-girl-drugs thing spelled the end for us.

The summer before I started high school saw me venture down a new road. A road that was slippery when wet. Yep, ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Mr Jon Bon Jovi. But since my friend swore black and blue that there was absolutely no way she was sharing, we decided I would have Richie Sambora instead. Not sure if they got that memo.

After discovering a fondness for long haired unshaven rockers it seems bizarre to think that my very next crush was on Matt “when will I be famous” Goss, from British boy band Bros. A highlight for that year was a distant relative giving me an actual photograph of him from a press conference. It was my most treasured possession. Where is it now, you ask? No bloody idea.

You know how they say that sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better? Well, yes, it’s true. Because 1989 was the year of New Kids On The Block. I put dibs on the lead singer Jordan (me and about 25,000,000 other fools who failed to notice he was wearing denim overalls), and swore I would be loving him forever…

There was a very brief time where I had a crush on Luke Perry from Beverly Hills 90210 (wtf WAS I thinking?). The less said about that the better. I was now a senior in high school, and by this stage I had come to terms with the fact that none of the guys who ever appeared on my walls were likely to walk down my street, spot me, fall head over heels in love, and whisk me away.

And then folks, shit got crazy.

Ana discovered metal.

And all the pretty pouty boys in metal bands with their long teased hair, eyeliner, lipstick, and tight leather pants. There were usually some tattoos to be seen, igniting my infatuation with the classic bad boy rocker. From this point on there was no loyalty, no one-man-devotion. My walls, and stereo, were completely taken over by the likes of Sebastian Bach, Nikki Sixx (my phone just auto corrected that to Suxx!), and Guns N Roses.

Then a funny thing happened.

Around this time I met a real life guy who was way hot, and who everyone had a crush on. Except me. My friend and I thought it would be fun to dial his number and prank-call him.

Except he thought it was cool.

And wanted to keep talking.

And asked for my number.

Did I mention he had the sexiest laugh?

And long hair? Suitably messy? Leather jacket? Tight black jeans?

And: he played guitar in a band.

So I put dibs on him.

And got him.

So now it’s your turn: who were some of your teenage crushes?