House Of Me Toos
Thursday night, while my boyfriend was cooking our Thanksgiving dinner, I went for a run along the nearly desolate Sunset Boulevard, from Fairfax to Doheny and back. Street traffic was extremely light, and the sidewalks were bare except for the occasional homeless person.
A handful of people were eating dinner at Mel's and the few tourist trapperies open on the north side of the street. The only crowds were consolidated at two places: The Laugh Factory, for their annual freebie dinner for starving actors, and the House Of Blues, for "Cradle of Filth with Bleeding Through, Arch Enemy and Himsa." A few hundred people, mostly 20-somethings, snaked out of the club, clogging the sidewalk and spilling onto the street for an entire block.
The funny thing was, they were about as uniformly uniformed as an army of Wal-Mart employees: 400 sullen, aging children, rebelling against the dictates of a conformist society by looking almost exactly alike. Almost every single one of them was dressed in black -- either in a t-shirt with some parent-displeasing message (guys, mostly), or in a raggy melange of grunge and goth (most of the girls). Snarling faces and snarled, unwashed hair were unisex de rigeur. Not one seemed to pick up on the obvious irony: To be non-conformist in this particular sea of non-conformity, you'd have to show up wearing a raspberry cardigan sweater and a pair of jeans from The Gap -- or a McDonald's uniform and a smile.
I remember the same group conformity of non-conformity from the late 60's. Long hair, sandals, bellbottoms, chains and beaded necklaces for the guys. Girls went no bra, permed hair, baggy dresses, or short shorts. Just to be different I put on cowboy boots that hurt. 501's with no underwear so I was always getting crotch hair caught in the buttons (better than a zipper, though). Vest over t-shirts or a long sleeve shirt. Or a corduroy sports jacket over same. Did a short beard, though. Must have looked real weird, but I was different.
Looking back and then comparing the parallel with today, I'd say the non-conformists want to dress like the rest of the non-conformists mostly to set themselves apart from the prior generation and those that dress in conformity with that older generation. Hence the ubiquitous f-whatever on the tees. You didn't mention the tattoo/piercing trend. Kind of squicky to this aging guy, all those needles, the blood and pain. No pain, no style, I guess.
allan at November 26, 2004 7:49 PM
Didn't see a lot of tattoos, piercings; then again, I was speeding by -- Marathon Girl. I sometimes even shop while running, to be environmental...run to Montana Ave, through the Third Street Promenade -- and back through there, picking up the odd jacket at Armani Exchange and Chanel lipstick at Sephora.
Amy Alkon at November 26, 2004 8:31 PM
Oh, I get it. Run 'til you shop.
allan at November 27, 2004 2:00 AM
Allan -- I did a similar thing back in the 70s, after the bridge-and-tunnel crowd caught on to punk rock: I started wearing Donna Summer t-shirts and blue plaid polyester pants. And what teenage boy in NYC would be caught dead leaving the house without the requisite Stagelight eye pencil ("Midnight Indigo") smudged to perfection? My poor parents. I was such a frightening child. -- Lena
Lena, now a middle-aged lesbian fashion plate at November 27, 2004 6:15 AM
Allan,
Didn't we meet? You sound awfully familiar.
Sheryl at November 29, 2004 1:58 AM