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I’m So Ghetto, So Hood.

Joonies,

We’re lightening up on this blog- its been too much sexguiltGODaddiction (love you FARRAH)

Anyway, I have this video on REPLAY as I write this post, anyone who has a problem with the quality of my writing can take it up with the year 2000:

LISTEN FOR THE ULTIMATE NOSTALGIA

Do you guys remember the days when boy bands were the shit? When Xtina Aguilera was hot? Britney wasn’t a mess? And Eminem was the best rapper around?

I dont know if its just me, but growing up in America, the music of the 90’s and early 00’s played a huge role in my life. Whether it was TRL or SPICE GIRLS bubble gum wrappers, I was sold. I didn’t know if I wanted to be Posh Spice or Ginger, (who the fuck wanted to be Scary Spice?) I knew I preferred Backstreet over NSYNC, and I rooted for Britney&Justin ALL THE FUCKING WAY.

VH1: THE TRL DECADE– must watch.

Unfortunately, I didn’t limit my music taste to my stereo system.

I decided at some point that my clothes should be a reflection of my music taste, and unfortunately, that was always changing.

PHASE ONE

When I was younger, my parents reallly restricted my ability to choose my own clothes…aka they cramped my style. Given I was 11 at the time, I really was frustrated at the fact that my parents wanted to dress me like an IMMIGRANT PREP SCHOOL CHILD (knock-off oxfords, suspenders, and plenty of plaid)

So I decided to take matters into my own hands, and just change on the school bus, on the way to school. I’d like you all to take a minute and imagine the confusion of the white person sitting next to me on this bus– unable to understand why I would be so adamant on changing outfits.

At this time, I really loved Britney Spears, Mariah Carey, and Ricky Martin.

I was so obsessed with pink sports bras, hot orange windbreaker pants, and platform shoes. I wanted my pants to always be shiny and balloon-y. I would make my hair crimped or straight, preferrably in pigtails with cute scrunchies.

Oh, and as for make up? That was also applied on the yellow school bus. But of course, I had no idea what I was doing.

I remember one time I stole my mom’s purply-pink lipstick and just slathered it on my lips like a clown. The kids at school would stare at me while I was walking by in the halls, and I really thought it was because I looked good so I’d keep applying. (How sad)

PHASE TWO

After awhile I decided trying to look like a white girl wasn’t doing me any good. So I decided I’d rather try to look like a black guy.

Yes, Joonies, I discovered Eminem, BIGGIE, Dre, and Nelly. And somehow, I thought I fit into the category.

For people who think the ‘rap game’ back then was like what it is now— HELL NO MOTHERF*cKER. There was no Skirt-wearing Kanyes and BOOJIEE ass DRAKES on the scene.

Rappers SAGGED their pants, wore XXXL Tees, and big bling CHAINS.

Guess who else did?

ME. Thats right, I didn’t let my gender get in the way of my hood-swag. I sagged my pants, wore FUBU tracksuits, and corn-rowed my hair.

Let me tell you how it worked– I’d wear jeans like a regular girl, then OVER MY jeans I’d wear sweatpants, and SAG them real low, with an accompanying XXXXL sweatshirt. At school, my teachers would literally stare at me as if I’d lost my mind.

My parents were horrified. But the best was yet to come.

I also had an obsession with sneakers, particular AIR FORCE ONES.

I needed more than 2 PURRS. I bought the high-top ALL BLACK two sizes too big because I just had to have it. My dream was a closet full of Air Forces, of all shades, special editions, and heights. The Brands of this phase included (but not limited to): South Pole, Baby Phat, Nike, Applebottom Jeans, and FUBU.

I guess no one was around to tell me that I didn’t look HARD, I just looked like a RE-TARD.

Really though this phase is probably the most embarrassing and fun one of my life. Who else can say they sacrificed their femininity to look like a heat-strapping thug? (other than MISSY ELLIOT)

OFF THE DEEP END FOR SURE, so shake ya tailfeather.

PHASE THREE

 By some point I realized I wasn’t black, and had to face the fact that maybe my personal style shouldn’t be an imitation of what I see — but something from the inside.

I will be the first to say that I HATE fashionistas that keep up with thisandthat blog, tote VOGUE as their Bible and eating disorders as their mission.

WHY? Just because their imitation isn’t as awful as my FUBU phase, doesn’t mean they’re not lost too. Style is not Expensive, and its not Brand-name. Its also not Trendy and of-the-moment.

Back to my Phase Three point:  We all struggle with trying to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do with our lives, why complicate it more by trying to look like anything other than whats natural–ourselves? Whether you look to a celebrity or your best friend for style tips, you’re most likely going to end up looking second-rate. 

Personal style is like personal hygiene. You wouldn’t use someone else’s toothbrush. And you wouldn’t watch them take showers.

You just gotta do you.

But of course, you have to look like a joke once in awhile and laugh at yourself afterwards– real LOUD.

Do you have any style faux pas you’d share with us? Pictures, perhaps?

FACEBOOK US

sexandfessenjoon@gmail.com

STOMPIN IN MY AIR FORCE ONES,

saaghi  ساقی
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Comments

  1. The TRL Decade was SO good! Loved this post. I’ve been nostalgic of the 90s and 00s since I saw it!

  2. FUBU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    “Personal style is like personal hygiene. You wouldn’t use someone else’s toothbrush. And you wouldn’t watch them take showers.”

    but what about when people watch you apply your make up? is that weird?

  3. Yes, that is also very creepy. Slather on lipstick your own way, please!

    xx

  4. i never went for the Air Force Ones, but I was (and still am) all about those Run DMC style Adidas (i use the laces, dontworry). wish i still had some instead of switchin it up to sperrys.

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