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Grease Is Not That Romantic Story We Thought It Was
Let me take my feminist badge off for a sec
There are some golden movies that all of us love and that, no matter the time, will always be relevant, punching us right in the feels.
Like Casablanca or Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
I still dance to The Time of My Life every time the radio blesses us all with an oldie but goldie — whilst also trying to force someone to catch me mid-air, Jennifer Grey style. And I can’t stop my tears from wiping away the remains of my foundation every damn time that E.T score makes its way into my ears.
As we’re all finding comfort in the mundane act of watching a shit ton of TV — or building our own private island on Animal Crossing — we’re also diving into comfort movies that we know by heart and that will instantly make us feel good.
For me, one of them is Grease.
Well, was.
Not only this was the first movie my mother ever saw in theatres back then, but it was also my initiation into girlhood and the only resource for my bad boy fetish.
The leather jackets, the racing cars, the weird walk. Those guys were the epitome of what it meant to be cool and popular in High School.
