Mortified’s “Doomed Valentines” Show
The New Parish
Oakland
Feb. 10, 2024
Ah, the foolishness of youth. Is the ability to laugh at your own adolescent follies evidence of your own emotional evolution and present magnanimity? Or is it just an excuse to be a ham and include everyone and anyone — strangers, partners, and friends — in on the joke?
Why not both?
Teen angst is big business these days. Just ask the makers of the long-running “Mortified” show. Started in 2002 as a project among friends to share excerpts from their teenage diaries on stage for the amusement of all, it’s grown into a national live show, a Netflix series, podcasts, books, storytelling workshops, and online merch. You never know — that high school crush you swooned over in your diary may have audiences rolling in the aisles.
The show has proven to be pretty popular. The attendant at the entrance told the couple in front of me that online tickets were already sold out. (They were able to pay in cash at the door.) Inside the New Parish was a packed house, some of whom turned out to be friends and family of the night’s readers.
I attended a San Francisco performance some years ago. Real-life high school photos of past and present participants played onscreen before and during the show, revealing a plethora of cringe-worthy glamor shots, teased hair, and questionable fashion from years gone by. Clearly, everyone was ready and willing to laugh at themselves, a true-to-life version of “Freaks and Geeks,” “Superbad,” and the endless tales of awkward adolescence.
Now going on 20 years, the show seemed to run like a well-oiled machine. In honor of Valentine’s Day, this month featured a “Doomed Valentines” theme, with participants (you can sign up online) sharing their deepest thoughts about love and sex from the POV of their younger selves.
“I’m warning you now, there’s a lot of sex in this show,” the host announced. “Does anyone here think that love can suck a dick?” A crowd of cheers rose up.
Before the actual show, the host set the mood with a fake orgasm contest with a few volunteers from the audience. Then the evening’s readers took the stage one by one, holding journals, ready to set the scene for their teenage confessionals.
Emma, who was 16 in 2002, told the crowd that, at the time, she was eager to prove wasn’t a “priss.” She read from her teenage diary, declaring, “I smoke, I get drunk, I give BJs, I give HJs, I wear dark eyeliner in the summer… Welcome to the new me.” The crowd roared in approval. But the reality she recounted in her diary is also honest and endearing. After her first time, she wrote, “When he asked me if I climaxed, I said I didn’t know.” You could practically hear the confused teen behind the words of the self-assured adult. After loud cheers, Emma proudly thanked her family and friends who showed up.
Leonard talked about starting college at the age of 16, revealing that his first crush was on his roommate … a straight guy. Reeling from witnessing firsthand as his roommate falls in love with the woman who would eventually become his future wife, Leonard wrote that “I’d like to finish my novel before I commit suicide,” complained that “all gay guys are annoying or stupid,” and repeatedly wondered if the new couple ate all his brownies that he made “FROM SCRATCH,” he angrily intoned.
Sloane, who grew up in Fresno in an evangelical household, falls for fellow Christians at her youth camp but also worries, “I think I have yet to feel the full effects of Jesus’ death.” Later on in her diary, she declared, “Pastor Jeff is so hot.”
The night was half-cringe confessional, half stand-up. The potential for comedy from our personal writing is evident: the naivete of youth, overrun with hormones and an all-consuming desire to experience the full flush of love, and the crushing reality that it’s not always what it’s cracked up to be. I don’t know that we ever outgrow that, from what I’ve seen and experienced. But, it’s easy to see why the show is so popular. It’s funny ‘cos it’s true.
