Some of this movie comes from, you know, from me, sure. But it’s not, you know, I’m nev­er going to be able to make a movie that does­n’t, you know. Even if I’m mak­ing a movie about the turn of the cen­tu­ry, I think you’re gonna, it’s always going to be per­son­al. It’s just in the detailed stuff; the hors­es in Sheryl Lynn’s bed­room, with the rib­bons on the wall, and you got sis­ters or you got a girl­friend who loves to ride hors­es and all this stuff. And those lit­tle details that you remem­ber, I’ve been lov­ing to put those in a movie.

I think, you know what, when I grew up in the val­ley, I lived there, I was real­ly embar­rassed for the longest time that that’s where I lived and that’s where I grew up, cause I knew I want­ed to make movies. And I would look back to my favourite direc­tors, and think, okay, there’s Howard Hawks, and boy, he served in the war. And there’s Ernst Lubich who escaped Germany, you know, and all these won­der­ful sort of things going on in our lives that you could, you’re sup­posed to bring to a movie, you know. But, I don’t have shit to bring, I was like, I’m from the fuck­ing val­ley, you know. And, I was real­ly embar­rassed about that for a long time, I guess, until one day I just woke up and said, “Well, I’m from the val­ley, and I remem­ber things like lit­tle plas­tic hors­es and the blue rib­bon on the wall with the fuck­ing girl­friend, and you know, I guess that’s what I have to make movies about.”

—Paul Thomas Anderson, Boogie Nights direc­tor’s com­men­tary

A girl and her things.

Memories of burn­ing can­dles, sham­poo scents. The colours and the smells give me a total over­whelm­ing sense of poignant nos­tal­gia.

Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a real girls room, and being there, in the mid­dle of all the dain­ty things and the dif­fer­ent fab­rics, I did­n’t know what was more embar­rass­ing: the fact that I felt like I was 17 again, or the real­iza­tion of how much I’ve missed it.

And this is all I can write about.