✨ "Many Eras, One Girl: My Time-Traveling Selfie Story"
Step into a RockyMtnBabe time travel fantasy pictorial story — a dreamy journey across eras, captured through self-portraits and imagination.
What if I told you I’ve lived through the last 185 years… and even peeked into the future?
Okay, not literally — but in the world of imagination (and a little AI magic), I did exactly that.
This series is my love letter to style, storytelling, and the dream of stepping into other times. From the lace-and-parasols of the 1910s to the electric glow of a 2095 skyline, I traveled through decades wearing the fashion, the energy, and the attitude of each moment. Sometimes flirty, sometimes fierce, sometimes just free.
Each image is a snapshot from another lifetime — a little fantasy of who I might’ve been if I had grown up in 1955 or danced through a disco club in 1974 or stood on the edge of the world in denim shorts and a smirk in 2025. These aren’t just costumes — they’re characters. And each one still feels like… me.
So come time travel with me.
Let’s spin the dial on the time machine and press “Go.”
🕰️ Slide 1 – The 1910s
"The Beginning of the Journey"
The year is 1912.
I’ve just stepped out onto the bustling streets of New York City. The world smells like coal smoke and perfume, and the women around me speak in quiet confidence as the suffrage movement stirs beneath their gloves.
I’m not sure where I’m going — only that something bigger is calling.
I carry no map, no certainty. Just a lace parasol, wide eyes… and the time machine ticking softly behind me.
🕰️ Slide 2 – The 1920s
"A Whisper Behind Closed Doors"
The year is 1927.
The air buzzes with the clink of glasses and the low hum of forbidden jazz. Behind an unmarked door on a quiet street, I dance in a haze of sequins and champagne.
Here, in the secret heartbeat of the city, rules are just suggestions and dreams are poured as freely as the bootleg liquor.
The time machine waits patiently in the alley, its gears humming with the rhythm of the band. But for tonight, I belong to the sparkle, the secrets, and the thrill of being alive.
🕰️ Slide 3 – The 1930s
"Dreams of Tomorrow"
The year is 1939.
I stand beneath the towering Trylon and Perisphere, staring up at the gleaming symbols of hope. The World’s Fair hums with promises — televisions, rocket ships, cities in the clouds.
Around me, wide-eyed visitors whisper of a future too grand to imagine, yet somehow already within reach.
I can feel the time machine vibrating faintly at the edge of the fairgrounds, almost impatient. The world is racing toward tomorrow — and so am I.
🕰️ Slide 4 – The 1940s
"A Goodbye and a Promise"
The year is 1943.
The train whistles echo against the crowded platform, and the air is thick with hurried embraces and whispered prayers. I clutch my coat tighter around me, lifting my hand in a brave, trembling wave.
Everyone is leaving for something bigger than themselves — for honor, for duty, for love.
The time machine waits just beyond the smoke and steam, but my heart lingers here, in this moment suspended between hope and farewell.
🕰️ Slide 5 – The 1950s
"Cherry on Top"
The year is 1952.
The jukebox hums in the corner, and the scent of grilled onions and sweet vanilla floats through the air. I rest my chin in my hand, legs crossed beneath my seafoam uniform, waiting on a boy who’s always late — and always forgiven.
The world outside moves fast, but in here?
Time slows down to the rhythm of a soda fountain and a smile you don’t forget.
The time machine glows softly behind the kitchen door. But for now… one more sip, one more song.
🕰️ Slide 6 – The 1950s
"Golden Arches & Sweet Freedom"
The year is 1955.
A warm breeze rustles my checkered skirt as I step out into the glow of the golden arches. The parking lot buzzes with tailfins, rock 'n' roll, and laughter spilling from rolled-down windows.
It’s a new kind of America — shinier, faster, bursting with possibility.
I don’t need the time machine to know this is a turning point.
Fifty million hamburgers sold… and one girl just passing through.
🕰️ Slide 7 – The 1960s
"Pedals and Possibility"
The year is 1960.
The neighborhood is quiet but full of stories — clipped lawns, laughter through screen doors, and the scent of fresh laundry drifting from backyard lines. I glide through it all, wind in my hair, heart wide open.
This is a new decade. A blank page.
And I’m not just coasting… I’m racing toward whatever’s next.
The time machine trails behind me like a shadow — but today, I set the pace.
🕰️ Slide 8 – The 1960s
"A Place in the Sun"
Story:
The year is 1964.
Las Vegas shimmers like a mirage, and I’ve found my way to the heart of it — The Sands Hotel, where the Rat Pack reigns and the martinis never stop clinking.
I slip into the evening like I belong here. Dean Martin is on the marquee, my heels click against the sidewalk, and for a moment, time feels like velvet and champagne.
The time machine waits under the neon glow… but tonight, I’m here for the show.
🕰️ Slide 9 – The 1960s
"My Body, My Voice"
The year is 1968.
The air is electric with unrest, with fire, with urgency. I stand shoulder to shoulder with women who are tired of waiting, tired of being told to be quiet, to be small, to be less.
Our signs aren’t just ink on cardboard — they are declarations of existence.
In this moment, I’m not just a visitor in time. I’m part of the movement.
Because history isn’t something we watch.
It’s something we make.
🕰️ Slide 10 – The 1970s
"Let the Music Speak"
The year is 1970.
The lights dim, the guitars growl to life, and suddenly I’m not just in a crowd — I’m part of something bigger. Something loud. Something alive.
We sing louder now. We wear what we want, dance how we feel, and let the music say everything we can’t.
The time machine hums backstage, waiting. But for now, I raise my hand, shout the lyrics, and disappear into the sound.
🕰️ Slide 11 – The 1970s
"Stayin’ Gold"
The year is 1974.
The music pulses through the walls, the disco ball spins like a hypnotic sun, and I shimmer under the lights in gold that refuses to be ignored.
This isn’t just a party — it’s a revolution in rhythm. We don’t just dance. We live here, in the glow of freedom, glitter, and Saturday night forever.
The time machine can wait by the coat check.
I’ve got one more song to dance to.
🕰️ Slide 12 – The 1970s
"A Long Time Ago… At the Drive-In"
The year is 1977.
The speakers crackle, the screen glows to life, and I’m tucked into the passenger seat with popcorn in my lap and stars — real and imagined — above my head.
I don’t know who Luke Skywalker is yet, but I’m already in love with the adventure.
The galaxy feels bigger tonight, and so do my dreams.
Somewhere behind the screen, the time machine hums in approval. Even it knows — this moment is iconic.
🕰️ Slide 13 – The 1980s
"Let’s Get Physical"
The year is 1982.
The streets are alive with rhythm, cardboard dance mats, and boomboxes blasting beats that could power the whole city. My leg warmers are high, my shoulder’s bare, and the world feels like one giant music video.
This is sweat, neon, hustle — and joy.
I pop, lock, and laugh my way through the afternoon, while the time machine chills against a graffiti wall with its shades on.
It knows: we are absolutely living.
🕰️ Slide 14 – The 1980s
"The Sky Is Not the Limit"
The year is 1984.
I stand at Cape Canaveral with my hair whipping in the Florida wind, eyes locked on the rising pillar of smoke and fire. The shuttle surges upward — and so does my heart.
The ground shakes. The crowd cheers. History arcs through the sky like a promise.
We believed then — as we still do — that the future was something we could reach for.
Little did we know that just two years later, the world would hold its breath in sorrow.
But on this day, we only felt wonder.
🕰️ Slide 15 – The 1980s
"Mall Magic & Big Hair Dreams"
The year is 1988.
The mall is my runway, my sanctuary, my social universe. I strut past neon signs and wall-to-wall music, clutching shopping bags and living for the thrill of a new lip gloss and a whispered crush.
Everything is extra — the hair, the hoop earrings, the attitude.
Time travel can take me anywhere…
But for today, I’m just a girl in a hot pink top and a lavender skirt, owning her moment under the food court lights.
🕰️ Slide 16 – The 1990s
"Hello, Angst. Hello, Authentic."
The year is 1993.
Gone are the mall curls and neon sparkle. Now it’s flannel, eyeliner, and lyrics that say what we’re too numb — or too brave — to say out loud.
The crowd sways like a single pulse, and when Kurt sings, it’s like the whole world exhales.
I’m not here to perform. I’m here to feel.
This isn’t about being pretty. It’s about being real.
The time machine waits in the alley behind the venue… probably smoking a cigarette.
🕰️ Slide 17 – 1990s Interlude
"Temporal Miscalculation"
The year is… well, supposed to be 2095.
Instead, I’m standing in 1995, holding a payphone that smells like metal and regret, wondering why the time machine doesn't have a customer service line.
No Wi-Fi. No portal. Just a dial tone and a crop top.
Clearly, someone hit the wrong lever.
Note to self: double-check coordinates… after caffeine.
🕰️ Slide 18 – The 1990s
"I ❤️ TRL"
The year is 1999.
Boy bands rule the airwaves, butterfly clips are back, and Times Square is the center of the pop universe. I made my sign with glitter pens and pure adrenaline — hoping Carson Daly will see me from the MTV window.
It’s loud, chaotic, and absolutely perfect.
I don’t need the time machine right now.
This is the future I wanted — and it's playing live on channel 36.
🕰️ Slide 19 – The 2000s
"Dear Future Me…"
The year is 2004.
I’m curled up on my bed, scribbling secrets into a spiral notebook while my iPod plays Avril, Coldplay, and songs I’ll never admit to loving out loud.
There’s no TikTok. No filters. Just thoughts, tangled earbuds, and the glow of a lava lamp in the corner.
I don’t need to post it. I just need to feel it.
The time machine rests quietly at the foot of the bed… maybe journaling too.
🕰️ Slide 20 – The 2010s
"Playlist = Personality"
The year is 2010.
I’m walking through an open-air shopping plaza with my earbuds in and my hoodie unzipped just enough to show off a little confidence. I’ve got a playlist full of feelings and a pocket full of nothing — and somehow, it feels like enough.
This version of me doesn’t need a destination. Just a beat to walk to.
The time machine is probably off grabbing froyo…
I’ll catch up after this song.
🕰️ Slide 21 – The 2010s
"There Is No Planet B"
The year is 2015.
The signs are handmade, the voices are loud, and the urgency? Palpable. I’m no longer just passing through history — I’m standing in the middle of it, shoulder to shoulder with strangers who feel like family.
We’re not here to be polite. We’re here to be heard.
Because if we want a future worth traveling to…
we have to fight for it now.
🕰️ Slide 22 – The 2020s
"Hope & Healing"
The year is 2021.
For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a line — and it’s not for toilet paper. It’s for healing.
I roll up my sleeve and close my eyes, not out of fear… but relief.
This isn’t the end of everything we’ve faced. But it is a beginning.
A chance to gather, to breathe, to hope again.
The time machine waits outside, quiet and still. For once… I think it knows to give us a moment.
🕰️ Slide 23 – The 2030s
"The Future Is Now"
The year is 2030.
The skyline is made of glass and intention. Data hums through the air, cities are smarter, and AI isn’t just a tool — it’s a companion, a co-creator, a spark.
The time machine? She’s learned a few things too.
And me? I’m still dreaming — but now, the world is finally dreaming with me.
I don’t just visit time anymore.
I shape it.
🕰️ Slide 24 – 2095
"Decade Not Found"
The year is 2095.
Neon cities glow beneath glass skies, and the future hums with light and logic. I walk its streets with quiet awe — but something feels... off.
I’ve seen so much.
I’ve danced through time, fought for voices, fallen in love with eras I was never meant to know. And yet… the one moment I never understood still echoes in my mind.
A payphone.
A wrong year.
A blinking message: ERROR 404: DECADE NOT FOUND.
I thought it was a glitch.
But it wasn’t.
It was me.
Back in 1995 — confused, stranded, and alone — I whispered something into that receiver, not knowing if anyone… or anything… would ever hear it.
I just needed to believe it would matter someday.
Now, a quiet tone pulses in my ear.
My voice crackles through the static, older and uncertain:
“If you’re hearing this… you made it. And you’re not lost. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
I smile.
The time machine powers up.
The journey isn't over.
But now, I finally know why I started it.
I love this 💜💜💜
Wow …what an ambitious project … those vignettes are cool … love you care for details
Wow …what an ambitious project … those vignettes are cool … love you care for details
I can only begin to imagine the incredible amount of time, creativity, and effort that went into making this series!
Spectacular work, Rissa! 👏❤️