Welcome (back) to Capsule 98!
My 1998 time capsule went viral on Instagram, became a podcast, an online mag, and a clothing collection. Now, she's a NEWSLETTER! Join us for all things nostalgia.
Beep beep, toot toot! You’ve got mail! 💌
After a few too many years languishing in the doldrums of creative burnout, endlessly posting ‘90s throwbacks on Instagram and muttering, “ya, I really should start that Substack,” I’m BACK, BAYBEEE!
For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Randi Bergman, an editorial director slash writer slash onetime Carrie aspirant (remember that scene in Zoolander when they give Fabio the award for “Best Slashie” at the VH1 Awards? I could prob add a few more titles in there but this is not the time!).
And for those unfamiliar with Capsule 98 or its lore, here’s the cheat sheet: In 2017, I discovered a hilariously earnest, meticulously detailed and weirdly prescient three-box time capsule that I’d created in 1998, the year I turned 13. I lost my damn mind, and Capsule 98 was born. I started posting her contents on Instagram—from ticket stubs from every movie I saw (Titanic x3, obvi), to an itemized list of my school crushes, to a report on the top five trends that year—and it went viral (my fav of all the press was this segment on Good Morning America where they asked Kate Hudson to weigh in on the capsule and she dunked on my 13-year-old musical taste. It starts at 2:45!).
The project evolved fast: first into a podcast where I interviewed people like Dan Levy and Clueless/Romy & Michele costume designer Mona May. Then into an online magazine, where we snooped the childhood bedrooms of some very fabulous friends. And finally, into a capsule clothing and accessories collection with Hudson’s Bay (RIP) inspired by late ‘90s club gear and my own aesthetic—picture something between Nomi and Cristal in Showgirls and Courtney “I killed the teen dream” Shane in Jawbreakers.
Then, the pandemic happened. And I got a corporate job. And the doldrums of creative burnout ensued.
But last year, I started pulling myself out of that fog, and returned to one of my original happy places: New York Fucking City. A place I first moved to at 22 with stars in my eyes and dreams of High Fashion Glamour™. And honestly? HFG has shaped both the highest and lowest points of my life (interviewing Liza Minelli, peeing near Anna Wintour, ugly verklempt crying at Dior show…). I’ll probably be writing a lot about that here.
Fast-forward 16 years (?!?) and I’m back. After a year living in my childhood bedroom in the Toronto suburbs—saving money, securing a visa, and biding my time—I’ve returned to the city where it all started.
So here I am: freshly 40, trying to make sense of what it means to return to a dream you once had at 22.
My life is basically a Matryoshka doll of time capsules, and I’ll be unpacking them all here. There’s the surreal experience of moving back to NYC at 40. There’s the past year I spent living among my teenage ghosts. And then there are the actual time capsules I keep finding: a wildly intense scrapbook of the year 2000, a Warhol-ified box of Y2K beauty treasures (you’ll get it when you see it), and more.
Beyond my own stories, you can expect a full-spectrum nostalgia trip: interviews with the icons and creators behind the pop culture of the ‘80s, ‘90s, 2000s, and beyond; shopping finds; cultural deep dives; and highly specific roundups of whatever’s taking up the most real estate in my brain. I’ll also be exploring things I couldn’t help but wonder about—like why so many of my current dating experiences play out like lost Sex and the City episodes. Plus: irreverent randomness, Spotify playlists, and the occasional deep dive into a forgotten artifact.
I can’t get back on this ride together. Meanwhile, here’s the unofficial manifesto:
