My 1992 Diary

By Dawn Luebbe

Ready to revisit the early ’90s—that golden era of big bangs, Bubble Tape, and doing the Bartman? Meet your tour guide: Dawn Luebbe, an 11-year-old Nebraskan obsessed with 90210 and writing Kurt Cobain–inspired poetry. In My 1992 Diary, Dawn shares with readers her zany, silly, and deadpan adolescent observations. She touches on the cornerstones of growing up—from crushes to siblings to Ouija boards—all peppered with memorable call-outs from the height of ’90s culture. The book is filled with 75 diary entries, each hilariously narrated on its corresponding page. It’s organized into chapters such as Passion on the Prairie, Attempts to Be Cool, Preteen Conflict: The Art of Overreaction, and more. With Dawn’s self-deprecating, every-girl humor, My 1992 Diary is a charming and joyful read for the 11-year-old in all of us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781613127766

Book preview

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I’d like to think I had lofty goals at age eleven, such as bettering myself intellectually, being a nicer person, and contributing to society. But, frankly, I had one objective—achieving coolness. I knew this was my ticket to securing a boyfriend and gaining popularity (the only important things on Earth).

Strutting through the halls of Julius Humann Elementary in my turquoise vest and hot pink Keds, my wrist laden with friendship bracelets (from myself), I knew I was on the right track.

I had plenty of A-list role models to look to for inspiration: Shannen Doherty for her looks and bad-girl reputation, Janet Jackson for her sassiness and incredible dance moves, and Smurfette, who simply had it all.

Early-’90s preteen popularity was measured by one primary barometer: bangs height. If you wanted to figure out who the most popular girl was, all you had to do was look for the highest wall of hair.

This is Sarah, one of the most popular girls at Humann Elementary in 1992:

Feast your eyes on the work of art perched above her forehead. This was the dream. Her bangs literally did not move. And they had staying power. They were just as high at the end of the school day as they were in homeroom. Sarah was a bangs master. She was the girl everyone wanted to be.

My bangs—ahem—were a little more unwieldy: