What’s Your Damage, Winona?


I’d like to expand on a story we already told you earlier this morning: Winona Ryder’s confirmation that there will be a sequel to ’80s cult classic Heathers. As a bona fide Heather (check the byline) who has been known to hang out with other Heathers, I feel that I am uniquely suited to provide commentary on Heathers 2: Electric Boogaloo (working title).

Being a Heather is a privilege. Girls named Barbara Ann, Mandy, and Delilah can brag all they want, but the fact is that sharing your moniker with a movie is much rarer, and thus cooler, than getting name dropped in a song. And when the movie is a beloved and highly quotable black comedy about a clique of eponymously named bitchy girls? How very! However, Heather brand management is our utmost priority, and it is for this reason that we cannot endorse a Heathers sequel. What if the movie sucks? It will reflect poorly not just on Winona Ryder and Christian Slater, but on all Heather-kind. Same goes for the rumored musical version of Heathers we heard about a while back.

I’ve always vaguely fantasized of starting my own gang of Heathers (plus or minus a Veronica), a pipe dream that fell somewhere between starting my Babysitters’ Club and computerizing my closet like Cher in Clueless on the gamut of unrealistic childhood aspirations inspired by movies. This weekend, though, I came tantalizingly close to realizing my lifelong goal, and in so doing, learned an important lesson on the aggregation of Heathers. I was standing on line to have a book signed with a friend and fellow Heather. The woman in charge of the signing approached us with post-it notes, asking for the names to whom we wanted the books made out. “Heather,” we replied in unison, as we are wont to do. The lady proceeded to tell us that her sister is named Heather, and said Heather’s best friend is another Heather. This was it, our chance to double our numbers! I inquired about getting in touch with these Heathers, but the absurdity of my quest doomed it, and the woman assumed I was joking.

The moral of the story? Heathers need to come together organically. You can’t just wish for two new Heathers to pop up and join your clique, and you can’t just decide out of the blue that there should be a sequel to a 21-year-old movie. Until then, the teens everywhere (but especially in Sherwood, Ohio) would do well to remember that there’s a righteous dude who can solve their problems: it’s Jesus Christ, and he’s in the Book.