James Spader is Hot and Other Observations From Revisiting Pretty in Pink.

Watching Pretty in Pink as a grown-ass woman is a wholly unique experience.

In my teenage years, Pretty in Pink was the John Hughes movie I most identified with. On the working class theater nerd spectrum, I sat, with suspenders and bowler firmly on, somewhere between Molly Ringwald’s Andie and Jon Cryer’s Duckie. While I did not share the same obsessions as “The Duck Man,” his bouffant, bolo tie and loafers I could get on board with more than Andie’s penchant for the color pink and rich turds. I mean, who doesn’t want to be Duckie when he slides into Trax and sings Otis’ “Try a Little Tenderness” perfectly on cue? WHO. TELL ME.

Even as a young’un, I knew that like most Hughes movies the story was thin. Girl from other side of tracks and yacht jock overcome society’s judgment and live happily ever after — YAWN. But that’s not why most of us watch Hughes’ movies, right? We watch them because we find something in one or more of his characters that we can hold onto, relate to, empathize with. And Pretty in Pink is wholly relatable — even if you’re a dude with feather hair who buttons his shirt to his sternum.

I revisited Pretty in Pink last night because I needed a Harry Dean Stanton fix (rest in peace, you dear, beautiful man). Watching the film with grown-up eyes was…