I was a big Monkees fan in middle school. I read all of their interviews in Tiger Beat, watched the show, and saw the movie. I even had a big picture of Davy on my binder, and I was thrilled when he guest starred on The Brady Bunch . And I’m 23. What can I say though, they held up well. Nick at Night and VH1 aired the reruns one summer, and I was hooked. My mom loved them when she was my age, and she had kept all of the magazines, so I got to have close to the full Monkees experience, which was…slightly strange that I wanted to, but very enjoyable nevertheless. I remember one article in particular, that was about making yourself over to look and act like Mike Nesmith’s wife- the very first step was to go on a diet. Good times. I wasn’t interested in Mike though, for me it was all about Davy. He was cute, and charming, and British, and I hunted down recordings of him from his musical theater days, and had elaborate fantasies about living in the 60’s and marrying him. It would have been super groovy. He was the first short guys I had a crush on, and he made me love the Artful Dodger even more than I would have otherwise. His later career may have been…undistinguished, with the Sabrina the Teenage Witch appearances, half-his-age wife, and of course, the spectacular mullet, but because I came to The Monkees so long after their prime, none of that mattered. I didn’t have to watch them rise and then fade away, I got to see them preserved in amber, and focus on the silly tv show, drug-fueled movie, and more than anything else, the happy, light-hearted, puppy love and bubblegum music. It isn’t bad, as legacies go.