Taste the Wha?

Ok, so this post idea dates back to drunken summer nights on Holt's couch watching the television magnificently mounted in the corner of the ceiling, but I find it still holds relevance.

Everyone knows when it comes to the hip shoe consumers that make up so much of the world's candy-buying demographic, weird is the that's hot of the late thousand-ands. This must be why Skittles decided to make it the defining characteristic of their latest ad game. In researching their little "world wide web site" which in fact takes the form of a "blog," I have discovered that their new fucked-up and totally weird campaign has its crazy ass balls out and swinging. The spawn of my beloved Holt's-couch ad is proudly displayed. It encourages watchers to "race the rainbow" after engaging in a weird skit where two people dressed as rats torture each other with treadmills and bags of candy on the ends of fishing lines. I can only assume this is meant to capitalize on the hipster's lonely and twisted sexuality.

But let's reach back, back, back into the past:

This is the ad I originally saw. Believe it or not, the team over at Skittles selected this little gem for their Superbowl spot. That's right, at one of the last remaining events designed to inspire a sincere sense of ambition in underprivileged youth, these corporate sugar-pushers have used the delicacy of those private long-shot hopes to sell their precious rainbow. "Harvest the rainbow." If I may be so blunt, wha? This sad old grandma with her watery eyeliner and bad dye job is using the last remaining ounce of strength in her velour-encrusted shaky little arms to lug a wheelbarrow full of what I can only assume is symbolically her challenged son's Ritalin which she rakes up while distracting the poor kid with tickling? No, Skittles! This is not the message you want to send! Do not encourage the old fogies gnawing on hard candy as a substitute for Prozac--or perhaps as a tactic in order to appear harmless and endearing, not to mention fun-loving...old man Jenkins always has a few extra caramels for the kids.

That's it, I've got it! Oh Skittles, I've sorely misinterpreted you. I mistook your attempt to corner the burgeoning pedophile demographic as an attempt to wrangle the hipster market! Silly, ever-narcissistic me! Oh well, potato, po-tah-to.

AMY

P.S. I also may have entered this blog in some sort of contest while I was on that Skittles website? Ah, internet, you truly are the Road Runner of our generation. And I will always, always be your Wile E. Coyote.

omigod... SHOES!

Okay, so this post isn't actually about that hilariously annoying in a ha-ha-ha-please-let-this-stop kind of way youtube classic.

Although I have suspicions that when the "OMG, Shoes" video went viral it may have spawned more than we had foreseen in the realm of shoe pastiche. New Media classes everywhere have been completely underestimating how absolutely sick a viral video can make culture. Sick, people.

Because kids these days have been bit by the ugly shoe bug. I duly noted a couple of autumns back how "ugly" was the new "sexy" in footwear. Old Doc Martens, weird brown lace ups, or as my sister had, shoes that you might find on a medieval movie set. If you didn't own any, then fuck you. I raided many a thrift shop, ready to claw my way to the ugliest, brownest, cheapest pair.

For a group that's rah-rah-rahing all over the place about "sustainability", the hipster lifestyle is so freaking unsustainable that I may as well be eating a Meat Lovers' Pizza every day. You don't know that I haven't been.

Let's face it. The shoes were already fucked when I bought them. I think I made the holes work pretty well with my holey jacket (bought under similar circumstances) and skinny jeans. At least that's how my roommate assured me. But there's only so many rainy October nights when you can laugh off your freezing, soaking feet before the heel is entirely worn down and you accidentally step on a shard of glass. Nobody's laughing then.

So I'm proud to say that I, being two steps ahead of even the most fashionable fool at all times, have reached the next level in shoe irony. My shoes are so old and ugly they don't even have soles anymore. Yes, the sustainable lifestyle has reduced me to wearing (a) the neon sneakers I wore in grade 10 and (b) other bizarre boots I have purchased in various foreign countries but never been able to find an occasion for.

Fuck you, hipsters. Eat my neon dust.