So I'm sitting at work, waiting for the day to wind down so I can get a start on my nice holiday weekend. Now, I typically don't participate in many work conversations since I've been a bit anti-social as of late, but I somewhat felt compelled to get into this conversation. We were all talking about clothing trends from my co-worker and I's youths when I happened to remember a story from my youth. And it goes a little something like this...
When I was a younger man, break dancing was all the rage and the fashion that went along with it was absolutely required if you were to be thought of as "cool." The idea of being some hipster who went against common trends in an effort to be its own trend hadn't quite evolved yet. You pretty much had to follow the fashion trends of the day, or you risked being a social outcast that was only barely higher than being a leper.
One day, my mother and I happened to be shopping for me some new clothes. We were at Anthony's (a store long-since departed from the American retail landscape after it was acquired by Stage, another department store). We were in this store when, suddenly, I spotted them. Black, nylon, at least 26 zippers... parachute pants. Now, as mentioned befor
e, break dancing was all the rage during my youth. And as anyone who was alive then can attest, parachute pants were the uniform of any elite breakdancer. So if you didn't have them, then you were just some idiot who was just fakin' it. Being the.. well, I was a horrendous break dancer (hi, I'm white.. rhythm? the hell is that?), but I for sure wanted these pants. Somehow these pants were my ticket to star in the oh-my-god-please-let-them-make-it sequel to "Breakin." This was well before "Breakin II" hit and brutally murdered 80's culture. So yes, if I had these pants, I would become a break dancing God.. or at least a minor prophett (why yes, I've always loved religion; thanks for asking). So with these pants in hand, it was time to present them to mom for a purchase.If only digital/cellphone cameras had existed back then. The look of confusion on my mother's face was absolutely priceless. She was flabbergasted and had absolutely no clue what the hell her derranged child was holding up in front of her. It was a mishmash of nylon and zippers, all held together by a fine thread of shame. So once the "I don't think so" came from her lips, the war was started. I had to have these pants for several reasons. Besides, they were on sale, so it's a no brainer. It's also a no-go as mom began to put her foot down. I countered back something about me forming my own identity and parachute pants being an inextricable part of that identity. Of course, I hauled out the "lots of other kids at school wear them," which was greeted with the "if they were stabbing themselves in the heart, would you do it to?" retort. Of course, if it meant getting the damn pants, I'd have stabbed myself in the crotch AND the eye, but it didn't matter. Mom's foot was down and that was it. Dejected, I found the place where my coveted pants were born from and placed them back on the rack, vowing to return one day and liberate them from the evil confines of Anthony's Department Store.
So that's not even the cruel part. The real sadistic part comes years later. A different time. Breakdancing was dead. The era of the pre-goth/progresser had begun. Of course, I sure as hell wasn't dressing like that. So I went a vaguely trendy route. Polos? Nope. Lacoste? Not about Alligator. Calvin Klein? Wasn't he the dude taking pictures of dudes in their undies hugging or something? Screw that! No no my friends, I chose a much different route.
I went HyperColor.
Now, for those w
ho might not understand this -and God bless you-. Let me explain. The Generra clothing company decided that fashion and technology needed to merge in some meaningful way. After much market research (at least 30 minutes' worth), they decided that HyperColor was their go-to for fashion. The idea behind HyperColor was to impregnate the cotton material with heat-sensitive ink which would make every piece of clothing unique to the wearer given their body heat and it's distribution. It's a good idea actually. The idea was presented as a "Metamorphic Color System" and was damn cool in anyone's opinion. WhenI saw this, I had to have it and mom said ok. Of course, I was thrilled. Since I found this garment in Houston, Texas, none of my school chums in Tulsa would have heard of it. So there I was, the bleeding edge of fashion. I would be the king of my school. They would form lines to receive me. They would be in awe of me and my HyperColor shirt.Of course, since I was on a roll, I had to push the envelope a bit. That's when I came around the corner and saw... them. I'm not sure exactly what it was that convinced me that I needed to have a pair of shorts that changed colors like my shirt, but I had to have them. It never once ocurred to me that these shorts could have unintended consequences, such as letting people know just how flabby my ass really was. All I knew was that there were the coolest
goddam shorts I'd seen in my life and I had to have them. And this is where I learn my mother is a sadist. mom said "sure" when I pushed for them. Do what? She said yes? So now I had the whole hypercolor outfit (including socks.. I'm not going to Google for a pic, just trust me that the socks were just as cool). So there I was. Back from Houston, dressed head-to-toe in color changing material. I was ready to walk in and claim my spot as the Grand Ruler of my school.It was the beginning of an Oklahoma summer and I was a prodigious sweater. Needless to say, my clothes showed just how much perspiration could come pouring from my chubby body. So the outfit made one appearance before everything but the shirt was buried deep in my closet, right next to my secret copy of "Breakin" and my eternal dream of being the best breakdancer ever... in color-changing clothes.
Thanks Mom. :P
Just kidding. I love my Mom. She's the best. Pardon me, I'm gonna go eBay some damn parachute pants.
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