Of course they weren't actually all that glamorous, really. They were merely marine muggers and murderers and probably looked less like Johnny Depp in eyeliner and dangly earrings and more like Shane McGowan after a six week dirty protest. But that doesn't matter, because the wonderful thing about time passing is that characters can be reinvented and stories reappropriated.
So perhaps in a couple of hundred years we will have a fun and frolics Hollywood movie series called Terrorists of the World Trade Centre with the pretty boy de jour pouting and wisecracking through his carefully groomed beard and gradually convincing the feisty, lollipop-headed female lead to leave her lucrative career at Kleinwort Benson, swop her Manolos and Donna Karan suit for sandals and a flatteringly cut mini-burqa and join his gang of slightly scary but fundamentally fluffy suicide bombers. We might even get a light-hearted between-films reminder of the series called Talk Like Jihadist Day. So instead of "Avast me Hearties, let's make this landlubber walk the gangplank!" it'll be "Allah be with you, brothers, let's hack the head off this filthy western Unbeliever."