Oh man...just imagine how bad those hippies are going to smell after this gig...Air quality: Code Red.
And, of course, this:
Sadly, having seen perhaps more than my fair share of painted naked men in my life, the most shocking aspect of this photo is his choice of footwear. Tevas, really?
I snapped all of these images at Balitmore's Artscape festival on Saturday. And, simultaneously sadly and awesomely, these snapshots barely touch the tip of the proverbial freakish iceberg. Most of the time I was in such mouth-agape disbelief at the shambles going on around me that I forgot to take a photo. But, alas, many of the images I didn't capture have burned themselves into the dark recesses of my subconscious mind, so I might as well go ahead and write a review, the title of which I've borrowed from the one objectively glorious moments of the day -- Claire Huxtable's live performance and the distribution their mixtape, Bmore of a Hipster v2.0. It's pretty f*cking tight. (Download it free here!)
Anyway, we Zipcar'd up, I got schooled in the valet parking lot (no, literally, instead of doing his job and parking my car he taught me when to "cut it" to defy physics and fit in a spot smaller than the car I was driving -- a lesson I will always remember), and we learned it was OK to drink liquor on the street. Was Baltimore the coolest town ever? Possibly...but not really. As we neared the festival area the smell of hippies started affronting our senses.
Yes, like any self-respecting street festival, the dirty hippies came out en masse to celebrate not having jobs and smelling bad. (Deodorant isn't just for The Man, I swear!)
But as hard as it is not to just talk sh*t about hippies for a few more paragraphs, let me get into the actual festival. There was quite a bit of cool stuff going on there (clearly, did you see my photos?!). There were "fashion" shows at Gordan Plaza; a slightly twisted exhibit of people's notebook doodles at the Bunting Center (I wish I'd have known, I'd have submitted my own); and some rather sweet DJs and club acts at the "DJ Culture Stage." Besides Claire Huxtable, the highlight was probably Diplo, although, honestly by the time he took the stage around 9 p.m. the combined smells of hippy, deep-fried everything and general 90+ degree city made it hard to stay despite the amazing music.
But before I get to the reasons why we cut out a but early, let me review some of the fashion events at Artscape, mainly the "supa sexy, supa sophisticated, supa Full-Figure Diva Academy!" Now, I'm all about fashion for all, no matter what your size, but some of the outfits chosen for these models was enough to make even a K-Mart shopper gasp in disbelief. Witness:
And that's just the back. The front was a hot mess of too-much-fabric, visible bra and, if memory serves, a barfable array of sequins. Had I not been in complete shock at the shambles of this outfit, I'd have been able to capture the front, but alas, I wasn't so quick to the draw and only got the back. Consider yourselves lucky. Seriously.
But aside from the ill-fitting attire provided by Crystal's Bridal (which I imagine might be out of business now, that is if there's any justice in the world), the emcee for the Full-Figured Diva Academy was,
So, after that we wandered about, saw a dude street performing in a pair of fishnets, under a leotard under a fluorescent green thong (my camera must have taken the liberty of just deleting that from its own memory...traumatic...), smelled some more hippies, and finally landed at the DJ stage, where we learned of the glory of Claire Huxtable, rocked out to Rye-Rye and Diplo and saw this, the grand shambles of the day:
Although the pic is bad enough, let me add a few details to let you really get a feel for the shambles that is happening in this photo. First, aside from the overalls, which, by the way, she later unclipped one side of to wear like Bel Biv Devoe, and the scrunchie, this woman was about 50 years old. Now, I'm not saying dishabille 50-year-olds shouldn't be attending makeshift street festival raves (do work, ma'am!), but this particular 50-year-old was 1) completely wasted and/or high, and 2) painfully hitting on a 20-year-old boy who I'm pretty sure was more interested in hitting on the 20-year-old girl pictured standing in front of him. The whole thing was so awkward. I felt bad witnessing it, like, someone should have told her. Coo-coo-cachoo, he ain't interested in you! But I didn't. INSTEAD, I DECIDED TO BLOG ABOUT IT! ZOINKS!
And so, when the sun finally set and the hippies got smellier, we made our exit. Would I do it all again? Of course. I love freaks! But next time with a video camera because I do believe words may have finally failed me...