"Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '99: Wear sunscreen."
If those seven words just triggered a wave of late-90s nostalgia or a mental image of a graduation cap drifting through the air, you aren't alone. It was everywhere. For a few months at the end of the millennium, this spoken-word track was the closest thing we had to a viral TikTok sound before the internet actually worked that way. It was weird. It was profound. Honestly, it was a complete accident.
Most people still call it the "Class of 1999 sunscreen song," but that’s not really its name. The actual title is "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)," and the voice you hear isn't the person who wrote the words. It’s also not a graduation speech given by Kurt Vonnegut, despite what every chain email in 1997 tried to tell you.
The Viral Hoax That Fooled the World
Long before fake news became a political buzzword, the class of 1999 sunscreen speech was the internet's first "big lie."
In 1997, an essay began circulating via email. It was formatted as a commencement speech allegedly given at MIT by author Kurt Vonnegut. People loved it. It was cynical yet hopeful, filled with practical advice about flossing and not being jealous of others. The problem? Vonnegut never said it. He didn't even go to MIT that year.
The real author was Mary Schmich, a columnist for the Chicago Tribune. She wrote it as a hypothetical commencement address, basically just riffing on things she wished she’d known earlier in life. She later recounted how she found out her work was being attributed to a literary giant: a fan had sent her the "Vonnegut" version. It’s kinda funny how the "don't be reckless with other people's hearts" guy got his work stolen by a bunch of people with AOL accounts.
Then came Baz Luhrmann.
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The director of Romeo + Juliet and Elvis heard the text and decided it needed a beat. He took a sample of Quindon Tarver’s cover of "Everybody's Free (To Feel Good)" and hired a voice actor named Lee Perry to read Schmich’s column over the top. The result was a hit that stayed on the charts for weeks and became the definitive anthem for the Class of 1999.
Why the Advice Actually Holds Up
Looking back at the lyrics, or the column, it’s striking how much of it isn't just fluffy Hallmark sentiment. It’s deeply practical.
Take the sunscreen bit. It sounds like a joke, but Mary Schmich has pointed out in interviews that it was the only piece of advice she was 100% sure about. Science backs her up. Decades later, the American Academy of Dermatology is still fighting the same battle she was. Wear the SPF. It’s the one thing that actually prevents premature aging and, you know, skin cancer.
But the track moves fast. It jumps from "stretch" to "don't read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly."
The Real Wisdom in the Mix
- The "Live in Manhattan" Rule: The song suggests living in New York once, but leaving before it makes you hard. Then living in Northern California once, but leaving before it makes you soft. It’s a perfect metaphor for the way environments shape our personalities.
- The Social Comparison Trap: "The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself." In an era of Instagram filters and LinkedIn humble-bragging, this part hits harder than it did in 1999.
- The Flossing Mandate: Honestly, your dentist still wants you to listen to this part.
It’s easy to dismiss the class of 1999 sunscreen song as a piece of kitschy pop culture, but it resonated because it felt authentic. It didn't promise riches. It didn't tell you that you were special. It basically told you that life is a bit of a mess, everyone else is faking it, and you should probably take care of your knees because you'll miss them when they're gone.
The Cultural Impact of a Spoken Word Hit
Musically, it’s an outlier. How many spoken-word columns reach the top 40?
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Not many.
But the late 90s were a strange time. We were obsessed with the millennium. There was this underlying anxiety about Y2K and what the future held. The song acted as a calming agent. It gave the Class of 1999 a set of secular commandments to live by at a time when everything felt like it was about to change.
It also pioneered the "remix culture" that would eventually dominate the 2000s. Baz Luhrmann didn't just record a song; he curated a vibe. He took a newspaper column, a 90s dance track, and a voiceover and mashed them into something that felt like a movie trailer for your own life.
It’s been parodied a million times. Chris Rock did a version ("No Sex in the Champagne Room"). Various comedians have ripped on the "advice" format. Yet, the original persists. When graduation season rolls around every year, the class of 1999 sunscreen track sees a massive spike in searches and plays.
The Mystery of the Voice
A lot of people think Baz Luhrmann himself is the one speaking. He isn't.
Lee Perry, an Australian voice actor, provided the narration. He had to strike a very specific balance. If he sounded too old, it would feel like a lecture. If he sounded too young, it would feel pretentious. Perry nailed that "wise older brother" tone—slightly detached but clearly caring.
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He recorded it in a small studio, likely having no idea it would become a global phenomenon. That’s the beauty of it. Everyone involved—Schmich, Perry, Luhrmann—was just doing their job. They weren't trying to create a "viral moment."
Lessons for Today
If you're looking for the class of 1999 sunscreen song because you're feeling nostalgic, or maybe because you're graduating now and looking for something that isn't a boring speech, there’s a reason it still works.
The core message is about perspective.
It reminds us that the things we worry about—the stuff that keeps us up at 3:00 AM—usually isn't what actually ruins our lives. It’s the "blindside" events on a "lazy Tuesday" that do the real damage. That’s not depressing. It’s actually kind of liberating. It means you can stop worrying about the small stuff, because you can't prepare for the big stuff anyway.
How to Apply the "Sunscreen" Philosophy Now
If you want to actually live by the tenets of this 25-year-old track, start small.
Don't just listen to the song and feel nostalgic. Do the things.
- Buy a high-quality SPF 30 or higher. Use it daily, even if it's cloudy. Your future self will literally see the difference in the mirror.
- Call your parents. Or your siblings. The song emphasizes that families are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
- Dump the beauty magazines. Or, in today's terms, unfollow the accounts that make you feel like you aren't enough. The "Class of 1999" didn't have to deal with the TikTok "pretty scale," but the advice to avoid toxic comparisons is more relevant than ever.
- Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
The class of 1999 sunscreen song isn't just a meme from the pre-meme era. It’s a reminder that while technology and trends change—goodbye dial-up, hello AI—the human experience is pretty consistent. We all need to be told to be kind to our knees. We all need to be reminded that we aren't as fat as we think we are. And we definitely all need to wear sunscreen.
To truly honor the legacy of this track, stop scrolling and go do one thing that makes you feel "free." Travel. Dance. Or just floss. It’s the little things that end up being the big things. History has proven that Mary Schmich was right all along; the sunscreen was just the beginning.