A gray knit sweater with a cute-ugly neon design on the front. A glittery plastic backpack. A bottle of Bath & Body Works lotion. My older brother and I were laughing at the familiar contents of some lockers inside a pop-up exhibit called The 90's Experience in Oakland’s Jack London Square. As we opened the doors of the beige metal lockers, which are very much like the double-decker ones from my high school (I always loathed getting the lower locker), I recognized someone from a photo taped inside one.

It wasn’t my football-playing, weed-smoking boyfriend, who broke my heart during my sophomore year. It wasn’t the tall, blonde football player from my class at Bishop O’Dowd High School whom I unexpectedly hooked up with in my thirties. It was our neighbors’ son, who was six years older than me. He’d played football at O’Dowd too.

And there he was posing on the grass, pimply and proud, in his black-and-gold uniform. Seeing him smiling back at me immediately transported me to my neighborhood in Oakland decades ago. Though I knew I was going to a ’90s thing, that time-warp moment wasn’t expected on a recent hella-hot Wednesday. I had been back in the ’90s for about only 15 minutes, but shit got real there. That’s when the feelings buzzing through me turned from playful to pensive.

The 90’s Experience was created by locals for locals (and OK, tourists) with the belief that spanning generations is a fun way to spend an afternoon.

I graduated high school in ’98. The five people behind The 90's Experience also grew up in the East Bay and are also nearing or just beyond 40 years old. It’s all about nostalgia here: on the one hand, everyone (especially locals) likes to talk shit about how much better the Bay Area used to be, while on the other hand, the rest of the country (and Urban Outfitters) is nostalgic for the seemingly simpler time of the Clinton years. But the quintet behind this pop-up decided to do something about ’90s nostalgia and turn it into an interactive experience.

Because the creators of The 90’s Experience were all born and bred in the East Bay, Oakland was the first choice for the pop-up. But the exhibit isn’t Bay Area–centric. One of the co-creators, Ky Truong, explained to me how he’d experienced all of San Francisco’s hyped temporary installations — from the Museum of Ice Cream to the Color Factory — and his team agreed they wanted this exhibition to be on home turf. While there are countless Instagram opportunities, it’s not about luring lines of people and making money. The 90’s Experience was created by locals for locals (and OK, tourists) with the belief that spanning generations is a fun way to spend an afternoon. It wasn’t created by an influencer, and there isn’t a wait list. Those points alone make it feel more authentic — more, dare I say, ’90s.

Sitting on my ’90s throne

The exhibit took a year and a half to plan and about six weeks to create. The 20 rooms are filled with handmade efforts — locally sourced materials and contributions from local artists. Launched in July, the exhibit was supposed to move on to Los Angeles after the summer. But the team wasn’t ready to move it by Labor Day, and instead the pop-up relaunched in September after the creators took in feedback from visitors who wanted more TV- and movie-related experiences.

We kicked things off in a trivia room, where you answer three questions, Family Feud-buzzer-style. Of the three of us playing, my brother, who I thought would be the perfect date for this experience since he was there with me, won. The trivia questions were all music- and TV-related and made me add a forgotten movie to my Netflix queue.

There’s nothing like a little competition to get your blood pumping. The next rooms display a ’90s pop culture timeline, an unforgettable scene from feel-good movie Forrest Gump, and a throne surrounded by colorful graffiti by local artist krash of TDK Crew (Those Damn Kids). And as someone who used to annoy her brother by reciting the entire Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song as we waited to watch the show, I was thrilled “to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.”

Fresh jams pumped as we wandered the maze of memories — I Shazam’d “Let Me Love You Down” by INOJ. Friendly guides joined in, telling us factoids about The Simpsons, Super Mario Brothers, and Lisa Frank. There was a random hacky sack on the ground. There was a scene to reenact from The Titanic — one that was inappropriate for siblings. There was a payphone with no dial tone; too bad, because I kind of wanted to call my ’90s bestie from it. I did not want to call my parents from it because, well, bad memories from my pager blowing up, you know?

Bro and sis on the Titanic

Throwback posters and flyers from movies and bands made me say, “Oh yeah!” remembering, remembering. And just when my inner critic was thinking that everything gave me only visual and audio feels, I happened upon giant Mr. Sketch scented markers leaning against a doodle wall that was yelling ’90s slang at me. The markers were almost as big as I am, and their scent, that candied blueberry, was unmistakably a smell from a smaller me’s life. The words “fresh,” “dope,” and “tight” grace the walls, words that can also be found in the memoir I’m working on, chronicling the time when I was a teenage raver in the Bay Area in the ’90s. And I realized that I don’t say “All that and a bag of chips” often enough.

I turned around, and there were life-size boxes of sugary cereals, such as Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. I recall my brother and I watching cartoons together, crunching sweet carbs — though those memories are dreamy because that was actually the ’80s. Many kids spent Saturday mornings in the same way when screen time in its many forms wasn’t something people hired consultants for. I wonder, Aren’t kids doing that still? Hopefully with less sugary cereals?

The life-size Mr. Sketch markers and doodle wall

My brother and I see the wall of lockers — there’s a Trapper Keeper! I go back to feeling young. Then I see the photo of our neighbor’s son, and I’m reminded of the time that’s passed. I feel old. Granted, not many people will have the trippy photo flashback I did, but that was the turning point when I realized there’s a lot to smile about from 1990 to 1999 — and there’s also a lot to cry about.

What you won’t find within the 6,000 square feet of space are downers like political scandals and the rise of homegrown terrorism. Watch The Nineties miniseries if you want that. It would be impossible to re-create everything from the decade. The ’90s Experience posse wanted to remind us of the frivolity of the decade, save for the East Coast (Biggie) vs. West Coast (Tupac) wall, which reminds us of one of the glorified decade’s disturbing events. Also, to appeal to your 10-year-old niece, this experience is all about fun. And it better be free-spirited, carnival fun if you’re paying a $32 admission for anyone older than 11; admission is $20 for that niece and for kids between ages 4 and 10.

The Lisa Frank room

As I turned colorful corners, I craved a raver Chill Room. The fluffy white clouds and neon rainbow inside the Lisa Frank room was the closest thing to the raver’s refuge from pounding base and sweaty bodies.

When I asked why there wasn’t a rave-inspired room, Ty said it was considered but that it didn’t have enough appeal for those who didn’t live the ’90s. It was too niche. Really? The DJs and hundreds of thousands of ravers back then led the way for today’s EDM music festivals. In response to the absence of a chill room, I’ll quote one of my favorite ’90s movie characters: “Whatever.”

Toward the end of the exhibit, I realized that I missed out on some ’90s things like Pong, Space Jam, and Backstreet Boys, but not really—I wasn’t into them then, and I’m not interested in them now. In today’s all-access, always-on culture, it’s not surprising that people (including myself) are interested in reliving — or discovering—simpler times. I’m proud that I grew up when phones had cords, secrets could be kept, and tech still had an arts-and-crafts vibe, even if it means I’m celebrating the big 4-0 soon.

The final room was where my brother and our photographer, Andrea Campos, and I found ourselves bursting with laughter, trying to do synchronized dances for the Boomerang camera. I’ll try not to give away the inspiration there, but it was in the spirit of friends having a good time while life ticks by.