These men literally go from legislative dynamos to slum-bred marijuana enthusiasts in the blink of an eye. As much as I’d like to kick Geraldo Rivera in the shins for running his unintelligent mouth, I can’t help but ponder on modern stigmas surrounding things as inane as hooded sweatshirts. Clearly, I feed into these disillusions myself, so it’s crucial we take a step back and reflect as a society.

Instead of blaming the sweatshirt (don’t be an asshole), I think there is an urgent need to revamp social perspectives. My personal experience with hoodies is limited to high school, a 4-year effort aimed at battling perpetually uncombed hair and shitty skin. In a day and age hyper-focused on appearance, I don’t think it’s fair to penalize people- especially the youth- for wanting to hide under their hoods. Growing up, I remember my hood making me feel just an ounce better on days when I felt too insecure to be alive.

Maybe I’m being melodramatic, but what 17 year old isn’t?

My point is, everything needs to be put into a context. A 43-year-old man wearing a hood is more conspicuous than a young boy because we expect the grown lad to have it more “together” (aka, no bad hair days or undefeated insecurities). The allegation against the hood is ill-rooted and instead of vilifying the article, we should just learn to accept who can wear it & when.

today i found a new reason to continue loving this place an exorbitant amount. The silly motherfuckers have an ANONYMOUS QUOTE on the front page of their website.

if this isn’t a joke, then i don’t want to know what a joke is.

i fantasize about how deranged my children will be.

i think i hate jeremy scott.

now, for my personal highlights.

The Jesus-loving Hanson brothers. These kids were cool because they embodied a wholesomeness that coastal kids, like myself, didn’t come across everyday. The  nonsensical melodies, the pre-pubescent notes, the Oklahoma family/god/cult thing- all of it materialized into some feel-good elixir that had me drunk from elementary to middle school. Perhaps due to remnants from a lesbian past-life, i took an immediate liking to Taylor and made a home for him in my thalamus where he lived for a few years, making consistent appearances in my imagination and dreams.

my dearest lisa, the absolute pioneer of fresh. she walked the line between fun funky and fucking crazy with a precision unbeknownst to the world. I will probably think it’s ok to burn down a house one day because of how bad this bitch was/is/will never stop being.

Maniacal rage = hot.
will there ever be another? #lanadelreyismadeofplastic

a formal thank you to BOP magazine for being the cause of my teenage anglophilia. (a further thanks to my US History professor, Mr. Johnson, for tearing down my walls of disillusionment)

What happened to this bitch? Did she croak? If she didn’t, she could be making a ton of money off kids addicted to ecstasy. or at least sue Jeremy Scott. 

pre-Jennifer Aniston becoming the worst member of the female population, this show made me long for a balanced, co-ed 20s devoid of any pronounced goals. Today, I can vouch that this is exactly how I am living my 20s.

———————-

the reason i look back to these times with particular fondness is because they allowed you to visually define yourself with an ease and rigor that i feel is befuddled today. Green hair, a pair of steel-toes, and a rogue penchant used to be an outcast’s cry for further ostracizing, a rebel’s yell. Today, it’s like everything’s blurred into one undefined heap in the name of  fashion’s all-encompassing reach. Sure, I might have a Daria complex but I wouldn’t even know where to start if i wanted to wear my discontentment today. Hell, if I dressed up like Daria now, I’d be floating in homogeny.

Entertaining ideas like dying my hair purple, getting a tattoo on my titty, and piercing my eyebrow used to taunt me and skeptics alike with the thrill of becoming relatively unemployable. Those were the 90s- when social deviants worked at Hot Topic and tattoo shops, or at best, as hair dressers. Where I grew up, professional stagnation was the price paid for going against the grain and there was a bold line dividing those who considered it well worth it and those who didn’t.

Nowadays, these are the trademarked looks of anybody and everybody. That guy, with the septum ring and Prada creepers over there, yea, he develops apps.

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