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You remember it. The feel of persimmon. The crunch of spikes on gravel. That one guy in your weekend group who swore his balata ball had “more soul.” Golf in the 1990s didn’t just look different — it felt different.
And for those of us who lived through it, the contrast with today’s high-tech, data-driven, hyper-optimized game is more than just nostalgia. It’s a full-blown identity crisis.
So let’s walk back down the fairway and see just how much the game has changed — and what we might have lost along the way.
Before metal took over, the big dogs were carved from persimmon — a hardwood that looked more like sculpture than sports gear. Fred Couples bombed it with his MacGregor M85. Davis Love III? A Cleveland Classic. These weren’t clubs you adjusted with a wrench — they were clubs you respected. And if you mishit one, you knew it.
Metal woods started creeping in, sure. But it wasn’t until 1994 that José María Olazábal actually won a major using one. That’s how sacred persimmon still was at the time.
Now?
We’ve got the TaylorMade Qi35 with a “Carbon Twist Face” and Ping’s G430 LST with “Rapture Face Technology.” Great drivers — but a far cry from that warm, hand-crafted feeling.
You didn’t need a launch monitor in 1993 to know if you caught one pure. You felt it in your fingers.
The ‘90s ball was a little chaotic. Wound cores. Liquid centers. Kids dissecting them like science projects (sometimes explosively). But they had character.
Fast forward to today’s balls — like the Titleist Pro V1 with 388 dimples arranged for maximum aerodynamic efficiency, or the TaylorMade TP5 with a mix of hexagonal and circular dimples.
These aren’t just golf balls — they’re engineering projects. Good ones, to be fair. But you’ll never slice open a TP5 and find anything remotely fun (or dangerous) inside.
Back then, courses averaged around 152 acres. In 2025? Try 216. That’s an extra 64 acres to cover — not that you’re walking it, let’s be honest.
It’s not just length either. Greens today run like kitchen countertops. At this year’s Open Championship, green speeds were kept between 10’1″ and 10’3″. In the ‘90s? Nobody knew what a Stimpmeter was — and they were better for it.
And here’s the kicker: faster greens actually slow down play. A single extra foot of green speed can add seven minutes per group. Remember when three-putts were a fluke, not an expectation?
Need to know the distance? Look for the sprinkler head. Wind? Lick your finger and feel it. Grip a little too strong? You figured that out by hitting a hook into the trees, not from a digital swing analyzer.
Today’s amateurs show up like they’re prepping for NASA. GPS watches. Club trackers. Pressure-sensitive insoles. One guy in our group last weekend had a device that measures his foot pressure during the backswing. I asked him how it helped. He wasn’t sure. But it glowed blue, so he kept using it.
Sure, the data can be helpful. But golf used to be about feel. Instinct. Screwing it up and learning something. We didn’t need heat maps to play a fade.
Oh, the outfits. The ‘90s were an explosion of pleats, billowy shirts, and oversized logos. Nick Price navigating Sawgrass in parachute pants? Iconic.
Then came Tiger. By the end of the decade, his Nike deal flipped the script — athletic fits, bold colors, a sense that golf didn’t have to look like Sunday brunch with your uncle.
Now, it’s full-on techwear. Shirts wick sweat. Shoes feel like running sneakers. Some gear even has sensors that analyze your swing. Imagine telling that to someone in 1996 — while they’re pulling on cotton socks in the parking lot.
If there’s one thing that really defines the shift, it’s this: golf used to be about craft. You learned by doing. Watching. Copying. Failing.
Now? You get a swing coach, a launch monitor, and five apps before you’ve broken 100.
That old-school vibe hasn’t disappeared entirely — places like Bandon Dunes brought it back with walking-only layouts and classic course designs. And some golfers, like course architect Kyle Franz, still play with a bag full of antiques. He’s gaming a Callaway Big Bertha Warbird and a Ping 5-wood from the Reagan era. Absolute legend.
He once said, “With persimmon woods, the Old Course is twice as good.” And honestly? He’s not wrong.
Technology has made golf more accessible, more inclusive, and more consistent. That’s worth celebrating.
But we’ve traded a little magic for all that progress. The mystery of a slightly scuffed balata ball. The joy of shaping a 5-iron around a tree because that’s all you had. The sound of persimmon at impact — not loud, not hollow, but pure.
Back then, golf was just golf. No data dashboard. No AI caddy. Just you, your clubs, and the walk.
And sometimes… that was enough.