Lisa O
If you were born between the mid-60s and early 80s, your childhood bedroom was more than just a place to sleep. It was a universe filled with the stuff that defined the era. Some things were loud. Some were odd. But all of them were perfectly normal for the time. Here are ten things almost every Gen X kid had in their bedroom.
A giant stereo with too many knobs.
Before Bluetooth and smart speakers, there was a stereo system with detachable speakers, a cassette deck, and maybe even a turntable stacked on top. The knobs did everything from bass boost to “loudness” (whatever that actually meant). You spent time fine-tuning it, getting the sound just right for your mixtapes. The whole setup took space, and turning it on felt like powering a rocket. But once it worked, your bedroom turned into your own concert hall.
Milk crate record storage.
If you had a stereo, you had records, and those records needed a home. Milk crates, often swiped from a grocery store or found in the garage, were the go-to storage unit. They were stacked, shoved under the bed, or lined along the wall. LPs stuck out at all angles. Alphabetical order? Not likely. But you knew exactly where each album lived. It wasn’t neat, but it was yours, and flipping through those albums felt like flipping through memories.
Glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
These little plastic stars came with sticky backs and zero instructions. Once they were up, they didn’t come down without taking part of the ceiling with them. But every Gen X kid remembers lying in bed, staring at them, waiting for the soft green glow to fade. They weren’t exactly bright, but somehow they felt like magic. On quiet nights, they made your room feel like outer space, and you dreamed big under a ceiling full of tiny green dots.
A lava lamp or fiber optic lamp.
Mood lighting was a must. Lava lamps were slow and mesmerizing—like a weird science experiment in a bottle. If you didn’t have one of those, maybe you had the fiber optic kind with glowing strands that looked like something from outer space. Either way, they were less about light and more about vibe. You turned them on not to see better but because they made the room feel cooler, like something out of a music video.
Tattered posters ripped from magazines.
Whether it was a rock band, a movie star, or a skateboard company, your walls were plastered with paper-thin posters. Some were from actual stores, but most were ripped out of magazines and taped up with whatever was lying around. Corners curled. Tape yellowed. But that was part of the charm. Your walls said everything you couldn’t put into words, and every poster was a little piece of your personality on display.
A corded phone—if you were lucky.
Some Gen X kids had their own phone line. Most didn’t. But having a corded phone in your room, especially one with a clear casing or bright colors, was a big deal. You stretched that spiral cord to its max while lying on the floor, whispering to a friend and hoping no one picked up the other line. The phone itself didn’t do much, but it made you feel like you had some privacy, even when you didn’t.
A beanbag chair or inflatable furniture.
These weren’t known for comfort, but they were everywhere. The beanbag chair often flattened into a lumpy pancake within months, and inflatable furniture had the lifespan of a party balloon. But they looked cool in a catalog, and for a while, they gave your room a “chill” zone. They made the space feel different from the rest of the house as if you had your own lounge, even if it squeaked when you sat down.
A boom box with a tape collection.
Even if you had a full stereo, the boom box was portable power. It went to the beach, the backyard, or just got cranked in your room. Your tapes were lined up nearby—some store-bought, others recorded from the radio with awkward DJ talk in the middle. Making a mix tape took real effort. You waited for the perfect moment, hit record, and hoped no one spoke during the best part. And yes, you needed that pencil handy.
Plastic storage drawers filled with random stuff.
You had a drawer for batteries, one for marbles, another for broken action figures or cassette cases with no tapes. Maybe there were some pens that didn’t work or a slingshot you forgot you owned. There was no real organization, but somehow, everything you needed lived in one of those drawers. They were messy, loud when opened, and somehow comforting. That clutter was your version of controlled chaos.
A desk covered in stickers.
You might’ve done homework there. More likely, it held a lamp, a pencil holder shaped like a basketball, and a bunch of stickers half-peeled and overlapping each other. Band logos, random brands, cartoon characters—everything got stuck on there. Some stickers were from bubble gum packs. Others, you weren’t even sure where they came from. Over time, your desk became a scrapbook of your childhood in sticker form.
