Fashion Police: A Column From 2006

Dreadlocks, April 2006

…you know: those things that look like a cross between Medusa and a Guatemalan fuse box? Now, my dearies, I’m not here to denounce the beauty of dreads (a head of writhing serpents is becoming on some people) but I think we should have a little chat about them nonetheless… First, my Rastifarianitos, I’m not talking about you. Any religion or culture that promotes brotherhood, worshipping a living savior or getting high is ok in my diary. No, I speak out against the prep dread; that perfect cylinder, created by an attractive lady with a degree and more expensive than the pair of pre-ripped neo-old school jeans you bought to go with them. And, if you like to consider yourself a Rasta Man then remember this: Rastafarians don’t drink alcohol. This should rule, well, all of you out.

But really sweety pies, do you think you’re fooling anyone? Does anyone else see the irony of wearing clothes that give the appearance that you are too enlightened for that self-consciousness bull-poo, while wearing a hair cut that is more maintenance than Jennifer Lopez. I mean, besides the actual creation and subsequent tightening, when it comes time for “the washing” (which apparently doesn’t come often enough), you have to wear a neck brace to support the added weight of a head full of waterlogged sponges. When they’re dry, you know it’s time to wash them again.

Finally, did you roll down a hill and never notice that your ’do picked up everything on the way like velcro? Or is it your own personal traveling shrine to every buena onda you’ve met in your life? (A reminder: there are a lot of people in the world). Either way, from hair wraps to briars can we make a compromise? No dead animals, bones from the corpses of dead animals or any other material that is capable of rotting. You know who you are.

There you have it. Stay safe, stay healthy but most importantly stay stylish. ‘Til next month.

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