I had a discussion earlier today about the horrifying fashion trends of the early ’90s: IOU shirts, Z. Cavaricci pants, the array of HyperColor apparel available (my favorite were the pants/shorts, because if somebody farted, there’d be a quarter-sized discoloration around their ass; that was comedy gold in fifth grade), multicolored “zinc oxide” to shield the nose from harmful UV rays, L.A. Gear “Lights,” Reebok Pumps. The neon-drenched horrors of the early ’90s couldn’t compare to the relatively tame turned-up-collars on polo shirts and tutu-like dresses that preceded it. But nothing — nothing! — was worse than the visual assault of spandex biking shorts.
This was one of the few trends to which I could fall victim. Did I look at spandex biking shorts and say, “I must have them!” No. My friends looked at my jean shorts and snickered because I had not embraced the latest, greatest fashion trend. I was stuck in a past that didn’t want me (fortunately, it would catch up three years later, thanks to grunge). Since all my parents could afford were a pair of Pump knock-offs and a few HyperColor shirts, I couldn’t expect anything exciting like IOUs or Air Jordans, but I could lobby for spandex biking shorts. For one thing, I went biking on almost an hourly basis, so I could argue that they were vital to my survival as an athlete. Also, they were cheaper than regular shorts.
So I got my wish — a single pair of spandex biking shorts, just for me. They were a violent, blinding shade of electric orange, with eye-stabbing fluoescent-green stripes along the sides. The only thing that could burn corneas with more ferocity was our harshest goddess, the sun. But I was thrilled — I had my own pair of spandex biking shorts. I put them on, leaped onto my 10-speed, and raced around our apartment complex to show off both the shorts and my burgeoning, pubescent package, prominently exposed thanks to the extreme tightness of the material.
I was immediately laughed at by older kids. Not for my usual problem of finally catching up with fashion trends just as they’re out the door — no, I came in right in the middle of the spandex phenomenon. I was humiliated for, once again, having “off-brand” spandex. Rather than having ultra-cool shorts that were almost entirely black, with fluorescent racing stripes, I wore a glowing target that may as well have said “I’m a big homo, so kick my ass.” It was initially humiliating, but I remained undaunted — as is the way of big kids, they’d mock anyone who was younger and/or smaller than they were. My friends would respect me.
When my friend Ryan caught his first glimpse of me, his face twisted with disapproval. “Dude,” he said in his reedy voice, “you’re not supposed to wear your underwear with them.”
What?! Who made up that rule? But as I looked down, I started to panic at the sight of my own visible-panty-line. Not only could you see the v-shape where my briefs ended — you could see all the stitching and, most prominently, where the elastic waistband started and ended. Such was the sperm-destroying tightness of the spandex movement.
So in order to fit in, I decided to freeball it for the first time in my entire life. This turned out to be the worst mistake of my entire life. As I had recently hit puberty, I started to notice fur where there was no fur before. And when I put on those brightly colored shorts and walked around unashamed, I noticed all the kids — especially the girls — giggling and whispering. At the time, this wasn’t common practice — I was actually, as a small child, considered reasonably cool. This ended when the grunge movement made me sullen and withdrawn. Then I got a computer and vented my frustrations at the world by writing hilariously bad short stories. Then I got the Internet and found like-minded trolls, and my life was ruined forever.
Sorry, slight digression. As I walked around, with kids snickering, once again Ryan approached and pointed out the problem: thanks to the magic thinness of spandex, coupled with the obscenely light color of the shorts (which apparently protected the freeballing older kids, with their black shorts), my recent growth of crotch hair was visible for the entire world to see. It not only slightly discolored the orange of the shorts, it tufted out slightly, so every single fiber of hair was visible to the naked eye, as the hot summer sun beamed down on Li’l Stan. I gasped like an idiot and ran back homet to change into normal clothes.
And I never wore spandex again.
Posted by Stan on March 17, 2006 2:27 PM