July 23, 2025, 9:06am
Thirty years ago this week, Amy Heckerling’s Clueless hit theaters and brought us all one of cinema’s most perfect creations—Cher Horowitz.
Based on Emma Wodehouse, of Jane Austen’s Emma, Cher was as vibrant as she was delulu. Not to be stopped by bad grades, disinterested conquests, or the DMV, she was an indomitable heroine.
Though a thoughtful friend (“D, when your allergies act up, take out your nose ring!”) and a passionate debater (“It does not say RSVP on the statue of Liberty!”), I loved her first as a fashionista. So much so that at fourteen, I tried to replicate her computer carousel of outfits with a digital camera and the family Mac’s Paintbrush application. (Spoiler: it didn’t stick.)
Clueless was notoriously difficult to make. Even though by 1994, writer-director Heckerling was a proven chronicler of the teen experience, Hollywood was slow to recognize her genius creation for what it was. As Adrian Horton reports in The Guardian,
The protagonists were female; “Clueless” sounded too much like underperforming films on young slackers; studio brass thought Heckerling’s still distinctive amalgamation of Valley speak, teenage slang and personal inspirations (the trademark “as if!” came from “my gay friends in their 30s”) wouldn’t translate to a wide audience. “The entire industry said no,” Heckerling recalled.
But after receiving some key support from the meanest man in Hollywood, Clueless got the green light.
What makes the movie so perfect, so enduring? A perfect homage to its perfect inspiration? As a certain DMV instructor would say, “Let’s see, shall we?”
The language.
Heckerling’s inventive, bespoke Valley Girl lingo is totally peerless. Cher and co speak in an idiomatic, highfalutin 90s patois that only barely resembles the Beverly Hills I’ve been to. The language play invites favorable comparison to the source material, and breathes outrageously specific life into these characters.
Because I guess Bronson Alcott is a really good school.
The fashion.
Costume designer Mona May’s creations will live in infamy. From those plaid power skirt-suits to the flannel rags that remain a nod to the crispy Seattle weather. Thanks to Cher, my main thrill in life is a makeover, to this day. And even if Clueless gave me unrealistic expectations re: what to wear to high school formals, I’m forever grateful for the maximalist spirit, the bold palettes, and a sense of whimsy.
I didn’t understand that it was an Alaïa. Like that hapless mugger, I had to be told.
The affirmation.
For grade grubbers. For aesthetes with basically sound if simplistic politics. For women doomed to fall for charming queer hipsters and Radiohead loving, Nietzsche reading, granola breathing sadsacks who are literally too close to home. For people who prefer to construct and inhabit their own realities, rather than this grey one we share. Cher saw us. Cher was us.
And of course, key for me in the early aughts—she was also a virgin who couldn’t drive.
The offspring.
Because Cher and Dionne ran in stilettos, a dozen charming lessers could walk. The film spawned a bevy of other teen comedies adapted from literary classics, from 10 Things I Hate About You to Easy A. And though we can hash it out in the rankings, I’m personally glad to live in a world with Kat Stratford and Olive Penderghast for company.
In fact, I’d go so far as to say I miss the tide of literary teen adaptations. Consider this your challenge, reader, to bring Mansfield Park to St. Ann’s, or wherever.
In the meanwhile? Thank you for your service, Amy. And happy birthday, Cher.
