Award Tour Vol. 32: So Maybe I Just Wonder

These are photos from a website called: hotghettomess.com (that's hot ghetto mess)

It is a webpage dedicated to highlighting the very worst of the fashion no-no's and no-you-didn't's coming from around the globe, and captured on the web. Before they give you a shove down this grease-slicked on-ramp into visual hell, they offer the following foreword:

NOTE: Everyone on this site may be brilliant, talented, great parents, good people or otherwise have a lot to offer society.

I offer no such disclaimer.

In fact, if there was a disclaimer "un-do" button, I would be clicking it furiously right now. My argument being simply: allowing oneself to be documented on such a page dramatically (if not altogether mathematically eliminates) the possibility that you are:

brilliant
talented
a good parent person

or otherwise in possession of anything remotely redeeming that you might offer society (other than the laughter that ensues as a result of your poor judgment). But I digress... let's take a look at a few offerings in order to make the case.

How do I begin? How about this: Imagine if modern day pimps were like Cicadas (no, no seriously, stay with me on this one). If pimps were like Cicadas, and they could shed their skin, leaving behind a fragile, hollowed-out, husk of their former selves clinging to the nearest vertical object for dear life...

...this is what those empty shells would look like.

First we have Pimpus-Broke-Assus. At first glance he just looks like a pimp in recovery. If he got his hair pressed out and maybe put on a loud florescent Zoot suit, you'd think he'd be back in business. But don't be deceived. The Cicada has indeed molted - this is just what's left. This isn't a still photo of a playa just waking up. This is a picture of a dude who couldn't quite decide if he wanted to bring back the "Jerry Curl" or the "Shag" Haircut, and in a moment that will live in Barbering infamy, decided to do both (as I understand it was called the Sh-url). It is a wonder that we are even allowed to still have "Black History" month after stuff like this.
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Next we have Pimpus-Fairy-Dustus (should be self-explanatory). When preparing to take the photo, this man chose to lay on a hard wood floor wearing his momma's fur coat, in a pose strategically designed to expose one nipple (just one), all the while sporting braids and pink lip gloss - and apparently at no point did he think this was a bad idea. I'm assuming the open container of Vaseline and this month's issue of "Out" magazine have been cropped out of the photo but they must be there somewhere in the room. You see why the Cicada had to leave? You see?

Last but not least we have School-Principalis-Professionalus-Pimposterous. Much like his predecessor, Pimposterous has shown the very worst of judgment - and he can't claim to have been unaware that this image was being taken - he was a willing participant in this debacle. Rather than run for cover, rather than obscuring his face to protect what could have been a promising future - he stares boldly into internet oblivion. And the oblivion stares back...
... mocking him. For the record, the bird's nest that you see thatched and parted down the middle of his head is actually his hair. A real pimp would have let his Soul Glo - and feel it all so silky smooth - but not him. Instead he tries a look that didn't even work for Whoopi Goldberg when she played Celie in The Color Purple. It should come as no surprise, when I say in this particular instance, the Cicada died in it's skin before shedding it, and rotted from the inside out.
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Not to be outdone, the women of hotghettomess.com have joined the men in their effort to lower the bar of good fashion sense even further. Concern for things like their future aspirations and reputations are of little consequence - the club is no place for people with good judgment. Take for example Betty Ookla from the Wooly Mammoth clan. She is sporting evening wear designed by Captain Caveman consisting of a barbarian-chic furry ensemble that just screams Cenozoic era. While I think she drops the ball a little bit by not carrying the trademark cave man club, I did think that the Sasquatch shin-guards were a nice touch. You throw someone in the picture discovering "fire" and maybe another person chiseling a stone slab into a crude rudimentary wheel, and you have fashion anti-matter. Just add reality and watch it explode. If that's not feasible you could always go with a Thundercats theme.
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The next stick of fashion dynamite comes to us by way of Shaka Shortcake. Maybe simple math is the best way to go on this one.



Moving along.

Last but not but not least (in any shape, form, or fashion) is the The Club Vixen. I'm sure she was something to look at back in '63 (that's 63 B.C.) when she first won the title. But now I think the winds of change have blown - they were hurricane winds and they have not been kind. Oddly enough, when I look at her I don't envision a woman aging in dog years, showing off a mid-drift that conjures up images of an exploding canister of Pillsbury Dough - NO - I look and wonder to myself, "What the hell happened to Scottie Pippen? When did he start cross-dressing?"

I only say these things because I wonder...

and I care...

...(Okay, so maybe I just wonder).