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MADE YOU LOOK.
I’ve been seeing white people wearing rice paddy hats around town lately and had begun to wonder if Los Angeles was making some sort of shift into an agrarian society?
But now I understand.
Presenting Rice Paddy Hats for Hipsters! For fifteen real dollars!
A reader tipped us off to this and wondered if this wasn’t some racist foolery and were we mad at it, but I say naw. The person who buys this hat is a victim. A victim of fashion, of no SPF being high enough to protect their melanin-challenged skin, of Dov Charney and his twisted sense of everything, and, most likely, a victim of fetal alcohol syndrome and its attendant lifelong impairment of judgment.
In other words, I pity the fool.
Filed under: American Apparel, American Apparel Rice Paddy Hat, Asian Hats, Ass Hats, Ching Chong Ling Long Ting Tong, Coolie Hats, Foolery, Hats, Hipster Gear, Hipsters, Rice Paddy Hats, Trends, Weird Trends
I know very little about Christina, a new American Apparel model that seems to be the only one using her eyes and angles (rather than her nipples) to sell the company’s body-conscious cotton. I don’t even know for sure if she’s Asian, or part Asian, but golly I hope so because…
I. AM. IN. LOVE. WITH. HER.
And come to think of it, I need a denim pencil skirt.
Filed under: American Apparel, American Apparel Model Christina, Awesome Spex, Beautiful Ladies, Cotton Clothing, Crushes, Cute Girls, Fashion, Models, Mostly Nude Models, Nipples, One of Us, Pencil Skirts, Smize, Stripes
I can’t help but think that every time the girl in the new American Apparel ad (the one peddling some godawfully ugly black lace bodysuit) cringes every time she sees the damn thing.
‘Cuz I would. I would feel ashamed. Very ashamed.
Usually I’m pretty amused by American Apparel ads. Yeah, they’re porn-ish, but they’re also kinda goofy, an aspect I attribute to the clothes actually being advertised, which aren’t sexy so much as fugly. Half the time, it seems like American Apparel isn’t advertising clothes or sex even but jazzercise, that form of aerobic exercise that was so popular among people’s Tab-drinking moms in the 80′s (not my mom, because Chinese mothers don’t “work out” per se, unless you count speed-walking around the neighborhood in a visor and a noisy nylon windbreaker). It’s like the grimy hipster version of jolie laide, emphasis on the laide.
When I look at these photos, Brazilian bikini waxing, anal bleaching, and pap smears come to mind. They’re not goofy, they’re gynecological. (Admittedly, they conjure amputees too, which are sexy to some.) But really, there’s so much vaj up in my grill, I’ve lost my appetite for all things, sexual, retail, or otherwise. And I’m definitely going to skip the tuna fish for lunch, that’s for sure.
I like to think of myself as a game person who’s up for a lot of things, but there are a few things in life I’ve never tried that I’m really glad I haven’t. The reason being that these things, in one way or another, I associate with death.
- Roadkill for dinner
- Scrunchies in my hair
I have never worn a scrunchie in all of my [REDACTED] years on this not-so-green Earth. Not even to the gym. (Okay, okay, I never go to the gym either.) But a scrunchie has never touched a hair on my head and it never will. I don’t care what you say, American Apparel.
I don’t care how much T & A & Mounds-of-Crotch you throw at me. I don’t care how old this makes me sound (“I remember when they came out with scrunchies the first time around…honey, be a dear and hand me my teeth, will you?“). And I really don’t care that that this means I will continue to be judged through lowered, sloppily-mascaraed wall-eyes as someone who doesn’t “get it” by some 80 lb. airhead working the American Apparel cash register who subsists solely on a diet of vegan food, Parliaments, and bad spelling.
ALRIGHTY! And now I’ll resume patiently waiting for the entire hipster population on this planet to expire. (I know, I know… but who will buy all of the very-tiny t-shirts? We’ll figure that out later.)
Picking up where Barack Obama Is Your New Bicycle left off comes Barack Obama Is Your New Fixie (if you have to ask what a “fixie” is, you are too old–that is to say, over the age of 25–not to mention deeply uncool). BOIYNF is for the hipster set and, rightfully, its sloganeering references all of the correct trappings, like Williamsburg, veganism, art school, and afterparties:
Filed under: American Apparel, Barack Obama Is Your New Bicycle, Barack Obama Is Your New Fixie, Death to Hipsters, Fixies, Libertards, People as Accessories, Slogans, We Don't Trust Vegans, Williamsburg
I live in Echo Park, one of Los Angeles’ oldest neighborhoods, an east side locale that has enjoyed a colorful Old Hollywood history as well as endured notable cultural shifts over the last few decades. Once a place that housed more quinceañeras than dinner parties, more taco trucks than supermarkets, the place has quickly become a haven for hipsters eager to board three guitar players to a room and claim for themselves the streets of any place with the promise of imminent gentrification.
Anyone acquainted with me knows that I love quinceañeras and taco trucks, but can’t fucking stand the sight of a hipster. So it is with much dismay that I observe this awful transformasian.
The fact is, there are more hipsters than Dianas, and so my dismay is for shit. Instead, everywhere I turn are 90-lb. dudes in women’s skinny jeans that wake up at 3pm to occupy cafe real estate and drink coffee (free refills!) without ever brushing their teeth. Every kid looks like Slash (or like very thin, clean pirates). Every girl wears tights–tights with short-shorts and high tops, tights with pirate (more pirates!?) boots, tights with ugly vintage frocks, tights with neon wayfarers, tights with pleather belts, tights with pleated EVERYTHING. And they all just seem to sit around. All day long. Being. HIP.
To pass the sad time, I often play a wonderful game called “Hipster? Or Homeless?”(not yet televised, but I have this shit trademarked in case you try and beat me to the punch). At any given street corner, somebody with crackhead twitches, a filthy mustache, ratty hair, and a Members Only jacket could be either one–sadly, they’re usually the former. But when you really can’t tell, you’re at an impasse–the person is a Homester!
I thought this was the only joyful pastime to be gleaned from the presence of these french-pop-vinyl listening, American Apparel-layered, PBR-sucking vermin, but was proven wrong today when Jen introduced me to…
Dude. I just tried playing this outside my window and had a winning game in all of 49 seconds. It was rocktastic. Woot woot!
The only downside–uber-hot Asians are permanently included in this mix. Which means that because of some of you shaggy-haired assholes, WE’RE TOTALLY PART OF THE PROBLEM.
Occupation: American Apparel model and photographer
Why She’s a Babe: Because she makes us want to go out and buy puo puo (granny) glasses, even though they’d make us look like cross-eyed librarians. And she looks hot in a leotard. And because she possesses The Ass That Launched a Thousand Controversies, when a self-portrait of her booty clad only in tights went up on a American Apparel billboard in New York last fall.
(p.s. Since it’s Super Tuesdaysian, we thought we’d mention that American Apparel endorsed Obama and McCain. Just in case you need another two cents.)