First Crush: The Jon Bon Jovi Obsession

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Updated: December 20, 2015
Originally Published: May 21, 2015

I had to devise a strategy to get more MTV in my life. I craved it intensely. While I sulked, catching glimpses of Martha Quinn, Nina Blackwood, and Adam Curry’s epic hairstyles whenever I could, my sister and I found our true fix on Friday Night Videos. In the summer of 1982, I began babysitting, which turned out to be an excellent side gig, mainly because it came with the added bonus of MTV—what a steal at just a dollar an hour! SHHH. Kids, I can’t hear Kevin Cronin crooning, “I Can’t Fight This Feeling.”

By the time Headbangers Ball hit the airwaves, my sister and I were fully immersed in the hair band phenomenon. Bon Jovi dropped their album Slippery When Wet (cue the giggles over that title) in 1986, and our family was bursting with New Jersey pride. I never missed an opportunity to remind my teenage friends that I hailed from New Jersey, making Jon and me practically family. During trips to the New Jersey shore with my cousins, I proudly sported a T-shirt reading “Jersey girls … best in the world.” It’s no wonder every lifeguard on the beach struck up a conversation with me. I was blissfully unaware of the shirt’s implications at just 15 years old. My cheeky mom, who once owned a shirt with a cartoon of two feet poking out of a van labeled “Do it in a van” (ah, the glorious ‘70s), certainly didn’t help.

Each time “Livin’ on a Prayer” played on MTV, I was spellbound. That hair! Those frosted highlights! Richie’s hat! Tico’s soul patch! They were like long-haired superheroes soaring through my teenage dreams. Before long, a poster of Jon Bon Jovi adorned our hallway—but here’s the twist: it was my 5-foot-tall, utterly cool mom who insisted on displaying it, eager to catch a glimpse of Jon whenever she passed by.

I absolutely had to own the must-have fashion item of the year: a denim jacket with white fringe. I wore it incessantly, and it appeared in numerous photos throughout that year. Okay, maybe I stretched it to two years. Fine, let’s call it three. My mom might still have it tucked away in her closet.

The hits from that album seemed to flow endlessly. “Livin’ on a Prayer,” “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and “Wanted Dead or Alive” turned us into karaoke enthusiasts long before it was a trend. Every school dance featured air guitar solos and our voices raised in unison, chanting “Whoa-oh! We’re halfway there!” I can still recite every single verse without a moment’s thought; it’s as if the lyrics are embedded in my brain.

By the time I stepped into college, my Slippery When Wet cassette was practically worn to shreds. The New Jersey album was still going strong, and “I’ll Be There for You” was my anthem as I bid farewell to childhood friends in 1989. Coincidentally, that was the year my parents decided to get cable—thanks a lot, Mom and Dad!

My new circle of friends included a mix of polished sorority girls and fellow hair band aficionados. When I joined the rowing team my freshman year, word spread quickly about my head-banging ways and my habit of attending concerts at Bogart’s on Vine Street. A senior rower even dubbed me “Megadeth” in tribute to my musical tastes, and the nickname stuck. To this day, my rowing teammates still call me “Mega.” It certainly sounds better than “Bon Jovi” as a moniker, I guess. Otherwise, novices might’ve mistaken my name for “Bon,” thinking it was short for Megan.

The boys I dated during my early college years bore a striking resemblance to Jon Bon Jovi—at least if you squinted and viewed them from a distance, focusing solely on their long hair. My best friend and I made it our mission to meet as many long-haired rock stars as we could, and I have snapshots with Enuff Z’Nuff, Dangerous Toys, Mr. Big, Skid Row, Danger Danger, and other obscure one-hit wonders. No, I’m not sharing those.

Then the early ‘90s rolled around, and Nirvana came crashing into my rock music paradise. Grunge dethroned metal, leaving Bon Jovi’s brother bands like Cinderella, Winger, and Extreme to fade quietly away. Interestingly, many of those bands still tour today, catering to middle-aged metal enthusiasts like myself.

Now, my 4-year-old son prefers country music, given our Texas roots, but occasionally a rock tune catches his attention, and he starts dancing. He has a fondness for AC/DC, Motley Crue, and the Honeydrippers, but his favorite lullabies are “Beth” by KISS and “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses.

I promised my husband that I wouldn’t hang a Jon Bon Jovi poster in the hallway, though.

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In summary, my youthful obsession with Jon Bon Jovi and the hair band era shaped my teenage years and left a lasting impact on my musical journey. Through the highs of karaoke anthems and the lows of grunge, music remains a cherished part of my life—one I hope to share with my own son.