Posts Tagged ‘cool’
Scroll through most Myspace band pages and you’ll see flash ads along the side columns for a snarky message tee company. All that insta-cool to be had for $34.99! The hipsters are all wearing them! Styley plastic sunglasses-clad kids are looking all “I just grabbed this off my floor and threw on a pair of vans and got on my cruiser bike” with their American Apparel tees, proclaiming something witty (sometimes) and standing against a brick wall in Encino, headed to a free show at a gas station (because THAT is punk rawk).
Let’s all have a moment of nostalgia and think back to the late 70’s iron-on
tshirt shops. You picked out your shirt size and color, and then the art from stacks of binder books with images divided into categories like “girls” “boys” and “adults only” (Lord knows what was in those, I was five). Most were appropriate for that moment in time; my sister’s was a rip off of an ACDC album title. Mine was light pink, and I chose a cartoon drawing of a kidney bean dancing in a rainbow field of flowers with the message above proclaiming “I’m a human bean”. Awesome.
I’ve been temporarily tempted to buy into the message tee when I see something especially awesome like this one, available from Smash, whose message tees focus on their homestate of Iowa but has a few good general ones too:
or this one from Delia’s (who actually has a reliably cool selection but alas is cut for 10 year olds):
And there’s the classic Neighborhoodies, whose price points have kept me just out of reach from ordering pride shirts for my various SF neighborhoods for YEARS (though I am still considering “Lower Rockridge” because that’s just plain funny, and only to people who live within 3 square blocks of my house). Their readymades are often smart:
Ultimately, while trying to narrow down a choice, I realize that it’s ridiculous to condense my outfit’s intention for a day into a little snippy comment on culture, politics or certainly Team Britney. It’s a bumper sticker for my boobs. And it’s probably not going to be funny to me for long. And it smacks of “think I’m cool please”. And I just can’t commit. But I still browse. Looking for that “one” to make me overcome my hispter annoyance and dive on in.
We recently went to the Oakland Lakeshore Farmer's Market after nearly a yearlong absence. It's always been a pretty big deal, with the kid entertainment, produce and fruit purveyors from one end of the Bay to the other (and far beyond- Rainbow Orchards from ElDoradoCounty has a booth!), live music, loads of specialty booths like the rotisserie chicken guy and the oyster guy, and of course great food booths where one can find amazing snacks such as a Himalayan chicken pita, a vegan soul food plate, organic beef tamales or fresh samosas.
These things all in check, I felt at home again. We grabbed a macaroon (family fave, and it better be for $3 a pop) and settled into the grassy hill among the natives. But slowly, the crowd evolved and it became clear that something had changed. Once a cute meet-up and coffee spot on a Saturday morning, it is now a bonafide scene, with hot girls of all persuasions, shirtless toned dads, rasta families, college kids, cool grannies, hipsters and yes, moms with strollers. It's like a rainbow celebration of humankind and the best of Oakland all at once. The music used to be a simple guitar based trio. Now, it's a full-on multi-culti dance party (last week started Soca and turned HipHop in a matter of minutes and ended up Reggaeton) with folks bouncing and shaking it on the cement music area to the point that the musicians were completely obscured. All hands in the air, sweaty good old fashioned dance party. It can best be described as going OFF. And in broad daylight!
I was tempted to join the party but had bumped into an old friend who apparently goes weekly with her hipster friends, and we had just settled down for a coconut espresso on the shady grass where my daughter was doing laps around us to burn energy. The water fountain was shooting away and kids were stripping down to panties and sandals while the parents cruised other parents. You know how it is; checking their presentation on some sort of point system.. the less of a "parent" you look like the better.. women all bespangled with cool calm hip Oakland vibe, young men who could obviously be out playing but are attentively pushing their baby stroller instead (and even a happily married dyke such as myself is not immune to the sex appeal of that occurence).
So instead I people-watched in amazement. Clearly, this is where the beautiful people come to buy their organic produce and then stick around to see and be seen. My wife, clad in a tshirt that proclaims the name of our daughter's preschool and a basic pair of shorts and converse felt incredibly underdressed. Or maybe just under-hip. It occured to me, watching these packs of incredibly cute looking dykes strolling the venue (single and childless for sure, but not all that young and still looking tight!) that we don't even have the wardrobe anymore to front like the farmer's market crowd. A Power Look for interfacing with some snobby real estate broker? Check. Casually comfortable done with luxury labels and a handbag that makes the Marina chicks drool? Check. But Oaklandish-cool we don't really do. I'm pretty sure I don't even speak that language anymore. But I see it, and I recognize it and I kinda sorta think I need to at least remember how that feels, so I'm sure that I'm not just getting old and cranky and selling my uniqueness short for a Max Azria sundress (and oooooh how I love them).
In the end I was thrilled (slight ego bruise aside) to see such great representation of what Oakland consists of. This incredibly communal feeling energy and such beautiful representation of every possible color of skin, all mixed families from every possible background coming together. I love it here. Now if I could only remember where I put my edge. I think it's buried somewhere under a pile of skinny jeans.