I first saw Pretty in Pink on its opening weekend, February 28, 1986.
Somewhere there is actual photographic evidence of this evening because —in true small town fashion—we stopped by my best friend’s parents’ store on the way to the movie theater and somehow ended up in a photo shoot for the local newspaper.

Pretty in Pink was my introduction to Molly Ringwald. I hadn’t seen The Breakfast Club or Sixteen Candles yet (that would come later that year, as slumber parties became a bigger part of my life), and the impact of this movie on young me Cannot. Be. Overstated.

Music? Check. The soundtrack had me trading out Whitney Houston for Suzanne Vega. New Order replaced New Edition. And of course, who doesn’t remember when “If You Leave” by OMD dominated the radio waves?

Fashion? Check. I repainted my room pink and covered it in posters and collages. Converse replaced Keds. I began investing in hats. I wore brooches and vests and flipped up collars.

Romantic ideals? Check check. Pretty in Pink is a fairytale for teens, a Cinderella story for those on the outskirts, on the fringes, on the edge and off the avenue. Molly Ringwald’s Andie is just a girl, standing in front of a boy, hoping he’ll ask her to Prom.

(Of course, that makes Iona—the fabulous Annie Potts—the fairy godmother, and in that case, Andie did her dirty by taking her lovely dress and turning it into a potato sack monstrosity that even Gunne Sax aficionados scoffed at. Yes, it’s been forty years, and yes, I’m still salty about it.)

I saw Pretty in Pink again on the big screen over Valentine’s Day weekend with my husband. He’d never seen it in its entirety (although I’m sure I’ve subjected him to pieces of it over the years). As we left the theatre, his first comment was: “It would have been so much more satisfying if she’d ended up with Duckie.”

Dear reader, this is why I married him.

Absolutely Andie should have ended up with Duckie. In Hughes’ original screenplay, she did. But test audiences hated that. They BOOED. The studio freaked out. They called an emergency meeting which ended with John Hughes hurriedly rewriting the ending and a one-day reshoot in which Andie ends up with Blane, with Duckie’s blessing.

Because I owned the movie and H.B. Gilmour’s novelization based on Hughes’ original script (again, obsessed) I got the unique experience of getting to see both lives that Andie could have had. This, I believe, was the genesis of my fascination with the idea of “What if?” a question that would come back to me years later in the form of my debut novel, SOMETHING BETTER.

Pretty in Pink is still, in my opinion, one of the great 80s movies, a time-capsule look at the yearning and heartbreak of first love, and the seemingly insurmountable challenges of different backgrounds and family expectations (not to mention the toxicity of peer pressure embodied in full linen-blazered glory by James Spader). Many people criticize the movie, calling Andie obnoxious and awful and undeserving of anyone’s affections. Perhaps… but perhaps the idea that love conquers all isn’t quite the point. Maybe the point is that you can’t always predict when and where love will come from. Maybe it’s in the cute, imperfect boy who shows up at Prom alone to tell you he still cares. Maybe it’s in the best friend who rides their bike past your house a hundred times a day and drinks juice boxes with your dad. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s in the female friendship of someone who’s got your back at all costs and will give you the dress of her dreams to help you follow your own.

I recently listened to an interview with Fredrik Backman (author of, among other things, MY FRIENDS, which captures the very Hughesian notion that the most important friends you will ever make in your life are those you make growing up). Backman spoke about how he creates “small universes” in his books, and I think that’s what John Hughes did exceptionally well with Pretty in Pink. He created the small universe of a girl who wants to go to Prom, and in doing so, allowed teens to see themselves reflected on the big screen in a new way. Not only in the big outstanding moments, but in the little everyday hurts and slights, the wins and glimmers. Molly Ringwald as Andie Walsh was all of us wanting to be seen for who we are. And she did it beautifully—not just prettily—in pink.