I know–I said the same thing about Facebook. But the hashtags must be stopped. They’re awful. People use them in media that don’t support click-through or linkage for hashtags. In fact I’m willing to bet they are used far more in media that don’t support them, than they are in those which do. We’ve got a fucking guy at work who uses them in internal communications in an apparent attempt to be “current”. Hashtags 1000% aren’t supported at my company. Cannot click on #programmingdivision and see if those nerds are trending within the firm. Sometimes in life you have to stand for something. If you don’t, then you end up standing for nothing. I stand for being a goddamned grownup and not using hashtags to inform the world, sans spaces, that I am having a #pizzaandbeernight, that I #lovemyboo, that I’m vacationing in Hawai’i #livingalohamaui, am constipated #needmoreproduce, got a promotion #climbdatladder/#stackinpaper, or that I’m day drinking #happyhourhero. A line must be drawn in the sand of this juvenile technology womb, everyone look at what I’m doing beach we live on. Hashtags is that line. I have a long and storied career of allowing brutally awful trends to pass me by, and I’m a stronger, more credible man for it. Examples? I’ll give you some fucking e.g.’s:
Button flaps and loud art on the back pockets of jeans. Didn’t own one fucking pair of True Religions. No white and yellow horseshoes or fleur-de-lis emblazoned on my ass cheeks. Granted, I cannot show my face in a bar in northeast Ohio because of it, but I can live with that.
Skinny jeans. If you are 5’10″, 139lbs, by all means wear skinny jeans. But if you know in your heart of hearts that you can’t pull them off, then roll them slowly and painfully down your legs kemosabe, this trend wasn’t for you. Be careful you don’t fall over when trying to pull your foot back through the ankle opening. Go buy some straight fits, you’ll be much happier. We all will. I’ve been accused of wearing skinny jeans myself, but it is a bald-faced lie. The lie was perpetrated by friends from my hometown where bootcut jeans had yet to fade from the fashion landscape as they had in the rest of the world, so a “straight leg” to them seemed like what they must have read about “skinny jeans” somewhere. If the lower legs were not creating a swishing noise as the flared fabric rubbed, they must be skinny. I proudly inform the world on this page that I have never owned skinny jeans.
Fashion scarves. I was buying a leather jacket at a store in Rome 3 years ago, a store so fucking trendy I was astonished I wasn’t hauled away to the nearest Gap by the Italian Fashion Police (IFP). I was being assisted by an impish little elf who brought me two jackets, both of which made me look like Chris Farley in the “Fat guy in a little coat” scene from Tommy Boy. He assured me both fit great, the smaller of the two being “perfetto” (perfect). I couldn’t breathe in the perfetto jacket. We got into an argument, ultimately me winning, that resulted in him bringing out two larger jackets, both of which were still too small. He said some things in Italian which sounded malicious, said he could no longer responsibly take part in this sale, waved his hand in an Italian show of “You are an American brute, fuck off now”, and refused to assist any further due to my refusal to consider a leather jacket that fit like a power-lifting “supersuit”. He was replaced by a man so handsome I found myself questioning my sexual orientation. He reiterated that the sausage casing look was the right way to go, but acquiesced to my desire to be able to breathe when I was wearing a coat. As I decided on which still-too-small coat was best to drop a small fortune on, Fabio was searching the back wall for something. He ambushed me from behind while my hands were busy trying to zip up the jacket as I sucked in every inch of fat on my body, coiling a fashion scarf around my neck and tying it off with an assassin’s precision. As I stood there in shock viewing myself in the mirror wearing leather body paint and a dainty silk scarf, Fabio stepped back as though he’d just put the last brush stroke on the Sistine Chapel and declared, with an unfamiliar hand gesture, “PERFETTO!” Um, Fabio, you have any clue how fucking kicked my ass will be the first time I hit the street in Chicago looking like a backup singer in a “John Tesh Christmas in Rome” concert? I tried, several times and including many hand gestures, to explain this to Fabio. Remarkably he understood. He muttered something about how stupid and barbaric Americans are, and to take my oversized jacket and get the fuck out of here. (And I’ll be a goddamn sonofabitch if his warnings that the coat would “stretch and be too big” didn’t come true).
So my point is that my judgment regarding which trends to hop on versus trends to wait patiently until cooler heads prevail and allow them to pass by, is air fucking tight. This hashtag thing is an embarrassment, it is weakening a nation, and it makes girly cowards of us all (not that girls are cowards, it is a figure of speech. #ifearpcpolice). Keep the hashtags on Twitter only, and even then limit yourself to 1 per tweet, and really think–I mean think very hard–if #jayzandnetsownnybitchez is how you want to represent yourself in life.