Why I Shouldn’t Have Worn A Keffiyeh In 2011
A Reflection on fashion as a political and ideological statement. (2021)
“Let’s go, I feel good man” proclaimed an enthusiastic Juelz Santana. It was the intro to a rap anthem, and it was infectious. It didn’t matter I was broke with low self-esteem, it made me feel like the streets was mine and it was my time to shine. The aughts were an era when youthful hedonism mixed with designer drugs led to the kind of irrational choices that took you from looking for loose change in your overpriced apartment so you could purchase a forty, to not caring if your last twenty dollar bill gets lost with the coke mirror in a strangers Billyburg loft. Coupled with the bass knocking from a Heatmakerz track, you would’ve thought I was Killa Cam pulling up in the pink Range, sporting a pink tall tee with some bootleg bodega pink Jordans on my feet. It was powerful music they brought to the table, and it was truly inspirational.
The so-called hipster era was rife with silly efforts at recycling and attempting to force old and new trends to match the cultural shift of the era. The results were obnoxious, but produced the cultural milieu that is the catalyst for the cringe of today. Part of the informed “irony” of the times wasn’t about bad being bad, but bad so bad it was considered good. This was the era that coincided with the rise of twitter, meme culture, and the gig economy. We thought we were in on the joke, but our nightlife, style, and the humility gained from it all reflect a different story today.
Where I fucked up personally on one particular evening was looking to an uptown rap supergroup for fashion cues. Why I thought I needed to retire my trucker hat and adorn myself with a kufiya is a goofy ass decision I’ve had to live with for over a decade. As soon as I was standing on line at the Johnson’s I could feel the vibes were off. A tall, muscular racially ambiguous man approached me with conviction. If it weren't for his yellow skinny jeans and checkered chucks I would have assumed he was ready to buck fifty me. Instead, he gave me side eyed shade and remarked “cute turban”. I thought to myself “the fuck?”, when it was I who was a fuck by mimicking the stylings of a man whose nickname is “bandana”.
My efforts at starting a wave in the hipster community would’ve made more sense amongst the Max Fish crowd. But I wasn’t a backpack hip hop head with an affinity for scarves and dropping knowledge. I was consciously attempting to dress up as a member of the Taliban in an effort to promote myself as a cultural trendsetter akin to Kanye West or Lupe Fiasco. Guided by the patriotic and oversized stylings of Harlem’s Dipset, or Diplomats as they were also known, I thought mixing the fashion sensibilities of two seemingly radical groups into my own style was an authentic attempt at contributing to the culture. I was wrong, and ten years later I am lamenting my shame. Following the massacre of Dipset in their Versuz battle with the Lox at MSG, and the rise of the Taliban as the U.S. military withdrawals from Afghanistan, this is less of an attempt at acknowledging cultural appropriation and more of an effort to admit political and social ignorance through fashion. Instead of just being an appreciative rap music fanatic, I had to take their lyrics literally in an effort to make myself feel a part of the hipster community with my ignorance as a midwestern expat trolling around downtown.
Years later, I remember reading an article where founding Dipset member, Cam’ron, denounced them briefly adopting the nickname “Taliban”. Claiming that at the time they were attempting to capitalize off of the popularity of the Islamic group, and reclaim the stigma associated with their supposed attack on NYC during 9/11, in an effort to bring confidence back to the city. As an ignorant and performative twenty-nothing, the closest inclination of reclaiming a negative stigma I had was the way black folks flipped the hard R to an endearing A. At the time, Dipsets intentions seemed badass. But years later reflecting back on my actions, and the motivation behind them, I realize now what a fucking impressionable try hard I was. We live and we learn. Thanks to cyclical fashion trends we were ready, and will be again.