Taking a Hip Hop Dance Class Does Not Make You Hip Hop
Recently, I switched from the Woodland Hills Gold's Gym to the Hollywood Gold's gym, a move that has resulted in more than just a $20 a month rate increase (and yes, my Jewishness is killing me over that price hike). The transfer also has brought me in contact with a species of female I am well-versed in: the hip-hop dance girls. Each day I'm treated to a parade of these girls coming from the well-known Edge Dance Studio next door to purchase the obscenely expensive smoothies that they sell in the Gold's snack shop.
Such females are often clad in derby caps (see this post) or woolen knit caps that they wear pushed down over their face. They usually begin sentences with the word "yo," and speak in a hip-hop inflected patois that generally does not reflect their white upper-class upbringing.
Additionally, this strange breed of woman is often seen in obscenely baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants usually tucked into their furry Uggs. And my point (if I have one) is that these women are fucking absurd and should be treated as jokes.
Now I know what you're about to say. How are these girls different from the millions of white males across the land that think that they're black and bump hard-core gangster rap from SUV's that their parents purchased them? A fair enough criticism. However, most of these guys at least have taken up in interest in the history of rap music and hip-hop culture that extends beyond wearing Phat Farm khaki pants and sideways baseball caps. ated.
Of course, these girls might argue, "Hey, I know all the words to "Lean Back" and all the words to "Wait (the Whisper Song)." Sorry, ladies, that's about as fucking hip-hop as my breakfast cereal. I know that you guys were deeply opressed growing up in your parent's $4 million Brentwood Mansion and you might have danced to "The Real Slim Shady," when you were 14 in your dance class and found Eminem deeply irrestible, but that does not give you an excuse to go around pretending to be Foxy Brown or L'il Kim. Something tells me that those girls didn't have Louis Vuitton bags at 12-years old. Just a guess.
Then then there are the know-it all hip-hop dance girls. The ones that feel the burning need to argue ad nauseum about the merits of every esoteric (for a reason) rapper that their ex-boyfriend once told them was "phat."
Look girls, I know you can dance both the "Cabbage Patch," and "The Rogger Rabbit," and that your dance teacher even taught you "The Wop" AND how to break, but you still aren't about to impress anyone but your own ego.
I'm all for self-expression but these types of girls are just complete poseurs (yeah that's right I'm calling out insults, sixth-grade steez) and generally feel the need to arrogantly proclaim their coolness at all times (not that there's anything wrong with arrogance, per se).
I.E. when a hip-hop dance girl I knew in college once told me proudly, "I only smoke blunts." Sorry missy. Unless your name is Snoop Dogg, chances are you aren't ONLY going to smoking blunts. Just take the weed being offered to you and shut your mouth. This, of course, is the second dumbest comment ever uttered to me by a hip-hop dance girl. One also smiled faux-confidently at me and told me "I only smoke greens." At which point, everyone laughed her out of the room.
Of course, said girl once excitedly ran up to me in the quad with the news that Pep Love from the Hieroglyphics was coming to our school to rap. Of course, this girl knew a little bit more about rap than your average hip-hop dance ho, but the point remained that her knowledge of music was solely based on what some guy she'd previously known had told her was cool. I'd rather have my teeth drilled for two hours than pay money to to hear some never-made-it member of Hieroglyphics rap.
This experience was similar to another hip-hop dance girl in college who was flipping through my CD book one day and remarked, "Your CD collection is pretty ill...for someone from the west coast."
Faced with such an obnoxious and ignorant comment, I should've tossed that girl out of my apartment and rescinded my offer to smoke her and her roommate out. But the roommate was hot, so I let it slide. Sometimes, I really do hate myself.
My advice to this particular sub-set of female is simple: be yourself. No one cares that you know all the words to "Back That Ass Up." And no one cares that your third cousin's college roomate was the West Coast Underground rapper, Rasco. It doesn't fucking matter. No guy wants to date a girl who knows more about hip-hop than he does, anyway. (quote attributed to Matt Bilinsky, regarding a Beverly Hills raised girl worth more money than God...). So ladies, it's okay if you're not super hip-hop. I mean let's get real there's only so much you can do when your last name is Schwartz. But keep up the dancing, it's good exercise and next week I hear that your instructor is going to teach you how to "Krump." Pop your fucking collas!
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go listen to Chef Raekwon's Only Built For Cuban Linx for the 8,134th time and be a complete hypocrite. Good day!