On clothing.
As charismatic as N*E*R*D frontman Pharrell Williams may be, I still have a hard time accepting that even the most braindead of fashion victims would actually lend his ridiculous designer clothing labels Billionaire Boys Club and Ice Cream the faintest hint of credibility. I mean, yes the fashionable elite will wear just about anything so long as they don't live in the same country as the person who designed it, but somehow I can't see even the most taste-deprived of the men whose wives wear dresses made specifically to look like garbage bags looking at a fucking pair of jeans with a cartoon dog running across the crotch and feeling inspired to spend $350 of his parents' hotel money on the damn things.
But the mind of the bored millionaire is a strange beast indeed.
The whole exercise reeks of boredom more than anything else - as if he started not one but two luxury designer labels just to prove that he could get people to pay well over $100 for the privilege of wearing what has to be the ugliest T-shirt in history and then have them top it off with the most ridiculously overpriced belt I have ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. And all the while the poor suckers are convinced that by doing so they get to be 'in on the joke' as they help further Mr. Williams' rapid ascent into the stratosphere of unbelievable wealth. But, of course, they aren't in on the joke at all - it doesn't take a super-sleuth to figure out that the people actually buying these clothes are the ones who the joke's being played on. Which is where the moral dilemma regarding the BBC/Ice Cream scenario comes into play - Is one supposed to side with Pharrell, because ha ha he sure punk'd all those gullible suckers, or would it be more practical to loathe Williams for throwing around his riches so idly when most of us will never see a million dollars at any one place in one time?
Or should we curse ourselves for wishing we had even a fraction of the Neptunes star producer's wealth? I admit it, neither loudly nor proudly but admit it nevertheless, that there isn't a lot that I wouldn't do for the ability to be as filthy fucking rich as that guy. And maybe you wouldn't - or you say you wouldn't. But in many ways, Pharrell is more of an embodiment of the modern male fantasy than even that cliché James Bond character. He gets to hang around with rock stars and models every day of the week, he's musically talented (see the old belief that musicians get laid more), richer than any human could possibly need to be, admired almost universally (even indie-rock magazines have to hand it to the guy from time to time) and he's black. Also - perhaps most importantly for the excessively white and nerdy amongst his admirers - he's an unabashed Star Trek fan but is still thought of as one of, if not the, coolest guy(s) in town. He can make a Vulcan salute at an MTV awards show and not elicit even the slightest chuckle from the audience. He's just that kinda guy.
However, while the fact that he embodies the dream of essentially everyone with a Y chromosome makes it hard to hate the guy who started the stupid companies in the first place, the fact still remains that Billionaire Boys Club and Ice Cream's shirts, jackets, jeans and sneakers are some of the ugliest money can buy. And I guess that sort of brings this improvised mini-rant to a conclusion, so fare thee well my friend. Fare thee well.
But the mind of the bored millionaire is a strange beast indeed.
The whole exercise reeks of boredom more than anything else - as if he started not one but two luxury designer labels just to prove that he could get people to pay well over $100 for the privilege of wearing what has to be the ugliest T-shirt in history and then have them top it off with the most ridiculously overpriced belt I have ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. And all the while the poor suckers are convinced that by doing so they get to be 'in on the joke' as they help further Mr. Williams' rapid ascent into the stratosphere of unbelievable wealth. But, of course, they aren't in on the joke at all - it doesn't take a super-sleuth to figure out that the people actually buying these clothes are the ones who the joke's being played on. Which is where the moral dilemma regarding the BBC/Ice Cream scenario comes into play - Is one supposed to side with Pharrell, because ha ha he sure punk'd all those gullible suckers, or would it be more practical to loathe Williams for throwing around his riches so idly when most of us will never see a million dollars at any one place in one time?
Or should we curse ourselves for wishing we had even a fraction of the Neptunes star producer's wealth? I admit it, neither loudly nor proudly but admit it nevertheless, that there isn't a lot that I wouldn't do for the ability to be as filthy fucking rich as that guy. And maybe you wouldn't - or you say you wouldn't. But in many ways, Pharrell is more of an embodiment of the modern male fantasy than even that cliché James Bond character. He gets to hang around with rock stars and models every day of the week, he's musically talented (see the old belief that musicians get laid more), richer than any human could possibly need to be, admired almost universally (even indie-rock magazines have to hand it to the guy from time to time) and he's black. Also - perhaps most importantly for the excessively white and nerdy amongst his admirers - he's an unabashed Star Trek fan but is still thought of as one of, if not the, coolest guy(s) in town. He can make a Vulcan salute at an MTV awards show and not elicit even the slightest chuckle from the audience. He's just that kinda guy.
However, while the fact that he embodies the dream of essentially everyone with a Y chromosome makes it hard to hate the guy who started the stupid companies in the first place, the fact still remains that Billionaire Boys Club and Ice Cream's shirts, jackets, jeans and sneakers are some of the ugliest money can buy. And I guess that sort of brings this improvised mini-rant to a conclusion, so fare thee well my friend. Fare thee well.