I wrote this article last year, I believe, back when All Stars, trucker hats and those cancer bracelets were popular… I’m publishing it now. This is me rather angry at the society I’ve been blessed to live in (which is a far cry from my regular sarcastic sympathy I usually have for it) and now I spill my guts out for all of you fine folks out there on the Internet. This social commentary, as a lot of these Panama Tourist Guide articles are, is the side of Panama the tourist offices and the government don’t want you, potential tourist, to see. I believe you should see the whole thing before making your choice… warts and all. Enjoy.

Are you “chic” enough for me?

The world is amazing. Seriously. And the people that live on it are amazing as well. There are so many ways to go around things, so many ways of looking at life that you never really know what the official one is. I consider myself a lucky man even though I’m not up to my ass in money and don’t have a loving family or whatever else you think makes people happy; I’m lucky because I live what I’ve come to acknowledge as a never-ending Seinfeld episode. What do I mean by this? If you’re one of the 3 people who’s never seen the show, Seinfeld is pretty much a series composed of unintentional events that are so bizarre and out there that even though they take place within the normal confines of a society, they manage to push the envelope of what stupid behavior implies. It’s so smart, it’s silly. The lines are blurred. Having said that, I sit in front of the TV or the computer and I soak myself into the pop culture that’s been established here in Panama for the last 5 or so years and I can’t help but laugh… at first I didn’t believe people like this existed in this here country but I was so horribly mistaken that I just had to laugh my ass off when I encountered this particular character. Alright, let me give you a picture at the way I look at this “chic” culture:

I get into web pages such as Cocoas.net and PanamaParties.com to look at the pictures. They have articles about something or other but the reason people go to these web pages is to look at pictures of themselves on the internet. Now, I go to these websites for 2 reasons, both of them resting on the base that I’m bored at the time I access them: 1) because I like looking at pictures of hot girls, and this reason gets fueled by the fact that they live here and that very fact somehow increases my chances of meeting them and maybe even dating them and 2) because more than 50% of those pictures has some idiot posing with a funny-looking face. Kind of like when they take a picture of someone and that someone blinked, only ten times funnier. Fucking gold. Anyway, accessing these web sites lets me know about what the “hip crowd” is into… and apparently they’re into trucker hats, Converse All Stars and t-shirts with messages on them. Oh, and that’s just fashion-wise; this shit runs deeper, but let’s stick with clothes because in the end, that’s what the “chic” culture is all about: what you look like on the outside.

I’ll never be chic. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing my beloved All Stars right now and a t-shirt I made that reads JEDI MASTER on its front. I’ll never be chic because unlike those people making asses of themselves unintentionally over the internet, I wear my All Stars because I have a reason for wanting to wear them other than it being trendy. Behold: I’ve wanted these Chuck’s for 9 years because my uncle would wear them and he was the fucking man. Because of the chic culture, they finally came down to Panama and I was able to buy myself a pair. And for that, I’m grateful. I don’t need a gazillion of them, though. I don’t need red ones and green ones and rainbow-looking ones and those cute spiral-patterned Hi-tops that look awesome with my designer pants. No. I just need one pair. Because I only have one pair of feet and I only wanted one pair 9 years ago. And I don’t even like trucker hats! That’s why I don’t wear them. It’s as simple as 1 + 1. But on the other hand, there are people who wear the All Stars even though they shun them because they don’t want to be labeled as thugs and wear the trucker hats even if they don’t like wearing hats at all because it’s the trendy thing to do. And don’t get me fucking started on the god damn arm bracelets.

TV is worse. Forget about the preppy accents and utter lack of professionalism of the presenters of these shows; they use the chic language to communicate, use chic clothes to distinguish themselves from the feeble mobs and pretty much seclude themselves from the rest of the planet to chic island or whatever you wanna call the la-la land these people go to. I watch these shows, again based on the principle of boredom, because a) the models are usually hot and you just don’t say no at the sight of a beautiful woman and b) the way these people act around each other, it’s like I’m watching a national geographic documentary on the society of kangaroos on the Australian Outback or something. Seriously, the only thing missing is an Englishman doing the voiceover.

It’s funny because this thing about chic culture is all about change. In a year or maybe even 6 months from now half the people that bought the All Stars and the trucker hats and the t-shirts with messages on them will simply stuff all of it in a box and stash it in the deepest corner of their closets to make way for the new fad. Just like pop music: it changes constantly. What worries me is exactly that though… it’s the popular culture. On the plus side, 10 years from now I’ll be able to tell my kid he’ll inherit my fabled All Stars when he’s older, shoes that have seen many battles and carry the wisdom of his handsome and clever father. Counter-culture is awesome. He’ll be the coolest kid in school, and he doesn’t even try to be… just like his old man. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is better than chic.

Ironically, nobody uses trucker hats nor wears the yellow bracelets anymore. The only people who wear Chuck’s are those who really deserve not being told fuck-o about it. I don’t know what’s trendy anymore and I’m damn glad for it.

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