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March 12, 2018 | by  | in Features Splash |
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Denim Overalls are My One Weakness

It’s pretty cool being black.

I mean most of the time apart from the stereotypes about fried chicken, ice cold grape soda, my baguettelong-schlong and my eight girlfriends who I can’t pay child support to.

Other than that it’s pretty smooth sailing, right? Haha. Fuck no.

Take an average Friday night for example. I get an invite to a 40-person house party in the middle of town. That type of party with a decent speaker set up, your standard game of beer pong and kings cup on opposite sides of the room and one girl vomiting near the entrance wanting to know where Patrick is.

Don’t know who Patrick is, but this is pretty good vibe for me so excuse me while I step over your recycled ramen noodle soup that smells of gin and vege stock.

What’s the most offensive thing that could happen? Someone come up and ask me what music I listen to? Nah, surely not. Someone calling me Big Shaq for the whole night and shouting skrra pap pap at me? Barely. Someone rapping the whole Juicy chorus and pointing their trigger fingers to me when “If you don’t know, now you know niggaaaa” comes on. Maybe.

I’m gonna continue to be a ‘good sport’ about those sorts of things because if I split your lip and stand on your chest there’s no way of explaining it to the police that doesn’t end in my face up against the wall or on the pavement. Apparently ‘it’s because he offended me’, doesn’t work anymore according to my girls who get their parts grabbed on the regular, so I’m just gonna act like I didn’t hear you.

I’m just gonna pick up my drink, make my way over to the speakers and make sure we end up hearing some BROCKHAMPTON or JHus before the end of the night. As I get my request in I am approached by a girl in denim overalls and gold hoops. She asks what I’m playing after this and says I gotta play some Mick Jenkins or Cousin Stizz. Immediately intrigued by her music and fashion sense.Website-Cover-Photo3

Denim overalls are my one weakness. You could be on trial for conspiracy against the government, thirteen counts of assault, selling underground uranium and accused of doing a hit and run on me last Sunday; if you walk in the court with denim overalls I’ll still have to ask what prison you gonna be staying at and what your timetable looking like.

We get to talking about rappers, hip-hop, indie and all these different genres and artists that we have in common. As Ubers arrive and people leave, our conversation continues to be the only constant I can rely on in this earthquake-prone mouldy death trap with no windows. Things progress and I gotta make sure I’m not perceived as too easy so I explain I got work in the morning (you can say this to any drunk girl if you need to call it quits and she’ll fully support you getting your life together). After a big old goodbye and the exchange of Instagram handles and phone numbers, I leave. As I’m in conversation with my Uber driver, I quickly send a “Hope you have a good night, stay healthy” text message to make sure she knows I’m not fully ditching. No reply.

Two days later I get an invite to lunch at Sweet Mother’s Kitchen for a milkshake and some curly fries; a ‘date’. I text my mans about the situation and he’s making sure I don’t order any meat in case she’s vegetarian and wear clean socks in case I end up sliding thru. I arrive and we immediately resume our conversation about 90’s hip hop and gigs we’ve been to.

We get into more personal topics like “where do you call home’, ‘what’s your relationship with your parents”, “why you not wearing those damn overalls” etc. Chips and guacamole arrive as we discuss close friends, family and mutual friends. She explains how she’s very open about her lifestyle and her family are very liberal. I explain my West Indian background and how my heritage shapes the person I am.

I pick up a chip, dip it in hot salsa and place it in my mouth. As my mouth closes, hers opens, and starts a sentence that would change everything. I bite down through the chip, through my tongue and through the ends of my world as she says “Yeah, and like all of my family are like REALLY into black guys”.

So, in an effort to avoid the Sunken Place and end up in Jordan Peele’s next film as Scalped Head Extra #3, I quickly ended the date and told her I had go read Malcolm X books and eat giblets with my niggas (not quite what I said but I’m sure that’s what she heard it as).

It may have been unnecessary to recount the dating process as it had occurred thus far in this much detail, but I want you to live my life, and feel my pain, as I felt reduced from a confident young black male to a caricature in a second.

3/10, only kept alive by denim overalls.

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