This morning, near the 72nd Street subway station, I saw a teenager wearing bellbottom jeans. For a nanosecond, I had hope for the youth of today. I wanted to dash over to her, hug her, and sob into her long white blonde hair about how wonderful she is to buck the skinny jeans trend, and to take the time travel subway ("PM" me for its secret location!) to my parents' house, where we'd sink into my denim beanbag chair and pore over Seventeen magazine for photos of clogs and belted sweaters. But instead I just sighed and died a little.