We have at least reached the point in our lives when we concede that, perhaps, our favorite screen couple wouldn't have survived the year after graduation. Our scenario is as follows: clearly, Claire would go off to Lake Forest or whatever, and have some kind of fliration with a guy in her Psych 101 class, who would wear Izod polo shirts with the collar popped and talk faux-eloquently about Nietszche and take her for a ride on his speed boat, and meanwhile Claire would be calling Bender every night, getting annoyed by his monosyllabic noncommittalness, his lack of interest in her thoughts and ideas, his inability to express his emotions, and so on. He would be back in Shermer, working in his cousin's vacuum repair shop and then driving around the neighborhood at night, listening to Motorhead and smoking pot with his friends. So Claire would come home for Thanksgiving break, and would, in an attempt to save her passionate high school fling, buy a new transmission for the classic car he was rebuilding; they would get in a huge fight about how he didn't want to accept her charity and he didn't care about her life, and he would hook up with some heavy metal rocker chick named Shayla, who had hair like Lita Ford and who had been his steady squeeze pre-Claire. Bender would wake up full of remorse, and would try to be honest and emotionally gutsy, but the relationship would be over and Claire would eventually marry a TV news anchor she met while doing an internship to fulfill her communications major.
I could do this whole scenario because, sadly, I can kind of envision the whole thing, but the point is: even now that we have gotten over guys who are all tortured and misanthropic (or at least pretend to be), not-Molly-Ringwald-Claire and I still envision, ultimately, the Trueness of Bender and Claire's Love transcending all...it would just take a while.
When I was fifteen, I felt about The Breakfast Club the way seminary students feel about Catholicism. But even after going years without seeing it--and hopefully growing as a person, since the tenth grade--I'll never get it totally out of my system. There is no such thing as true apostasy.
And to guys who have their eyes on girls who once loved The Breakfast Club, I can only say: get ahold of some fingerless gloves, a plaid shirt, and a sad, sad story about your troubled youth. When modern science finds a better panty peeler, I'm sure they'll let you know.