“All I need...You know just what I want, so do I.”
“Niggas chased my uncle down. Through God’s grace, the gun jammed. I found comfort in his pleasure, meaning I slept the best through gun sounds.”
“You gon die if they say you touched me. Got used to tucking this iron, but lions will never play with monkeys.”
Benny the Butcher
“I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. I’m wanted (wanted). Dead or alive.”
Jon Bon Jovi
My current favorite song on earth is “Show Me the Money” by Snakeships and Tkay Maidza. That is all.
I’m from an era when you had to be precise from head to toe to step out of the house. For example, never have I or would I ever make a trip to the bodega in dirty or flimsy clothing. That’s non-cipher. Pure nasty work. I’m not attending the function without a fresh hairline. I refuse to. If the cologne isn’t foreign, I’ll accept it graciously and give it to one of my students when I remember to bring it to work. Strictly foreign. I move a certain way. I always have. I always will.
As a portly gentleman and card-carrying member of Fat Niggas of America, it troubles me to see some of my hefty brothers outside in these streets looking extra nasty: stained shirt, dingy sweats, untied cooked sneakers with the tongue flopping, and ashy from lips to elbows. I won’t even mention the natural (hair). From what I see in the movies, niggas in the ‘70s did not get clipper/razor hairlines from their barbers. They just let the natural hairline flow. That doesn’t work for me in regard to every male who has existed since Roger and Dwayne from What’s Happening!! It troubles my spirit when I see my big brothers guilty of all the above at the same damn time. But it’s possible to change the course. They can reclaim their dignity. It is possible. I’m rooting for them. If you know any brothers in need of some good advice, refer them to this blog.
Fresh is the minimum, the tags don’t matter. From thrift store shoppers to couture tag poppers, it makes no difference as long as you’re proper. As a fat nigga, I face certain challenges that regular body types don’t have to worry about. For twenty years, all the mall has meant to me is Wetzel Pretzel and cologne shopping. The couture boutiques don’t have my size. Neither do the department stores. Ditto for shoe stores. Online shopping made that issue semi-irrelevant. Sure, I can (and do) shop online, but I lack the ability to try things on before I make a purchase. That doesn’t matter when it comes to Polo or Nike because I know how their products fit my body. I’ve spent more than enough paper over a long enough period of time to know. But still...it ain’t easy.
So, basically, all I’m saying is, shouts out to me for being the flyest fat nigga alive. I’m 51 pounds down, and comfortable in an NHL authentic over the tech hoodie. And yes. My Nikes still match my Lo hat. Q-Tip is quite proud of me. I know a kid who was 15 with about 15 pairs of Mike Amiri jeans. He was a fly little nigga. He still is. Ain’t no damn way I’m owning 10-20 of any type of clothing that on the low-end costs $800. But that’s his thing. I do what I do. As an early adolescent, I thought Grand Puba was the flyest nigga ever. He introduced me to Girbaud jeans a half-decade before Cash Money made its affinity for the brand known. He was one of the first to rock Lo and Hilfiger, a couple of years before they exploded onto the scene. For full context, the Lo Life crew (IYKYK) put Polo on the map for NYC Black culture, so I’m not trying to misappropriate credit. I didn’t know about the Lo Life movement back then. I knew who Puba was. He set the standard.
Ever since, my goal has always been the three C’s: clean, comfortable and consistent. Clean is the first and most important aspect of being fresh, as they are literal synonyms. It doesn’t matter how fly your clothes are if they’re dirty. If you have to wear clothes to the point that they are a bit dingy, you are not fresh. Get your dirty ass the fuck up outta here and wash your shit. Make sure you wash your ass, too. Change your drawz. Comfortability is paramount. Wear what fits. It doesn’t matter if it’s snug, as long as it fits. I’m a fat nigga who refuses to wear loose, floppy ass clothing. At the same time, I’m not spilling out of my clothing. I’m nice and comfortable. Last is consistency. You must have an extensive wardrobe to be fresh. You can’t be caught out in these streets OR on Instagram regularly wearing the same four outfits. Perhaps the greatest tweet (amongst so many) I’ve ever read was from a Nubian queen who proclaimed that she’d never let a nigga with three outfits hurt her feelings. I cried for about a half-hour. But she was deadass serious AND on point. You ain’t got no clothes, a close relative of baby girl’s declaration, is one of the funniest live-action disses I’ve ever heard. Don’t ever open your broke ass mouth to talk shit to me if you wore the same pair of kix more than once this week. I don’t care if it’s work, going to the Wal Mart, taking your lady out to eat, or whatever. This vitriol is directed towards fake fly niggas, not humble, everyday people. Ain’t a damn thing wrong with wearing the same pair of shoes to work or wherever you go. We are thankful for shoes on our feet. My angst is directed toward fake fly niggas. Don’t embarrass yourself by talking that fly shit. We know your kick collection is way under 25. Way under. Way, way under. And take your dirty ass coat to the cleaners. And please buy another coat.
You can buy the whole store, but they don’t sell swag. I believe it was Jewelz Santana who said something to that effect. He was absolutely correct. It doesn’t matter how much you spent if your swagger is on zero. The term hype beast is nasty work. I hate seeing a duck ass MF on the internet with thousands of dollars of shit on while simultaneously looking like a got damn joke. Go sit your lame ass down somewhere. You look extra stupid. Like I said, the price on the tag doesn’t mean a thing. Keep the three Cs in perspective and do your own thing. We all have our own style. There’s nothing wrong with seeing someone wearing something and liking what you see. Just make sure that you add your own flair to it if you want to emulate what you see. Looking like a carbon copy of someone else is a technical foul. Hop off. It’s nasty work.
Big ups to all my ladies and my folk who get fresh at all times. It’s a beautiful thing to see.
I couldn’t imagine my theme music being anything other than a jazz piece with a trumpet solo. It would be neither happy nor sad; it would just be. Just close your eyes and listen to the sound of the trumpet. As soon as you relax and exhale...there I am.
And we are...world, world, world famous.
CONGRATS TO MY SUN CHRIS MARTE. HE'S D-1 BOUND. I'M NOW A COPPIN STATE BASEBALL FAN.
RIP SAROYA JOHNSON
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG