Ketchup

On this morning's drive, I saw a young teenage boy on the other side of the street. He was walking in the same direction as I was driving, so his back was to me. There are plenty of kids on their way down this particular road every weekday to the junior high school. What drew my attention was that I thought he might be injured. His walk was a broken, shambling thing. Night Of The Living Dead.

I slowed down slightly, then sped up again. He wasn't hurt. He was a victim of the Gangsta BeeYotch Fashion Style affected by so many white suburban kids here in northern California. The poor idiot's jeans were so huge and saggy that the waistline was -- I swear it -- hanging down to the middle of his thighs. If his shirt hadn't been large enough for three of him, I suppose his butt would have been hanging out. It's a sharp look. No doubt it makes the girls crazy. Alas, with the waist-line below his ass, the crotch of his jeans had fallen to the space between his knees, which greatly impeded his ability to move his feet.

But it looked cool. I guess. If you were under sixteen and your frontal lobes still had yet to fully develop. My friends and I rebelled, too, trying to look tough in denim jackets and longish hair, but at least we never intentionally crippled ourselves.

I must be getting old.

What is that look really about? Conspicuous consumption of textiles?

Labels: The Cutting Edge of Fashion