Please Stop Saying Punk’s Not Dead

1.99 Up The Punks- The Death1.99 Up The Punks- The Death

Death by Party | 1.99 Up The Punks? No, for only $375,  Urban Outfitter keeps punk alive

Though I’m a staunch hardliner on making sojourns to the mall SOLELY for purchasing things, I don’t always adhere to what I preach. Heresy on my utter clerisy, I know. I will sometimes saunter into a Spencer’s Gifts to see for the umpteenth time high school teenagery gawking at moderately priced sex toys, I may traverse into H&M to see if there’s anything I can gawk over like a hormonally charged adolescent yet actually fucking purchase, and I will most definitely blaze a swath into Hot Topic, as they are the most detrimental upon the goth and punk culture. It is in this skein that I bring to you, the modular nadir of this latter (modern) culture.. Urban Outfitters is the last bastion of boredom, and I venture into it every time. I don’t purchase anything, but rather love to see what teats the hipsters are suckling upon. Vintage $375 ‘Men’s Punk Leather Jacket.‘ Let’s call it, the high price of (not) living.
The entire spectrum of DIY culture had been around for ages. It was only some years ago that I was in a dalliance with it, thus becoming a huge proponent of such. The compulsories of it were basically to create for yourself. It was self-serving, and for the most part self-aggrandizing… but it was beautiful. It was onanistic, but it was yours and yours alone. That unipygic majesty exemplifies this cobbled together jacket, marketed as haute-couture and sold for a premium price which is basically a defecation on all that punk stands for. I get it. What is old is inextricably new again; but pret-a-porter… excuse moi? For nearly four hundred dollars, I can purchase three packs of Marlboro 100 Lights, rent a limo, stock it with myriad liquor, gather a bunch of friends, and let not the circadian rhythm dictate our song whilst we traverse the landscape of New Jersey. For that amount of lucre, a memorable nacht out is remembered by the valued few and forgotten by the revered many. At the menial least, each and everyone could uphold themselves with composure sans compunction. That is more punk than this cobbled together, ‘one of a kind’ mess is… and it is sold.

When I was young, I had enrolled in Boyscouts on my own volition. The compulsories in this nascent brotherhood were few and far in between. Uphold a hand, swear fealty, build miniature cars fashioned of pinewood, attend meetings, and drink punch. It wasn’t too far removed from an Elk’s Lodge. The only thing that partitioned us was the Badges we’d earned and the (lack thereof) alcohol. We had to go camping, act like Katniss at summer camps, and earn our sewn-on pieces of flare for knowing how to tie a Bowline. When you think about it, those were the tenants of a killer. I had to earn this though, however innocuous the skills culled were, the practitioner was the belief in oneself. Yet, there are people purchasing Boyscout shirts at boutiques for nearly thrice the price of what my mother had expended on mine. This seems akin to the fucking ‘Punk Leather Jacket’ Urban Outfitters succeeded in selling to the one lucky person (it’s only one) that doesn’t even know what GHB is. We also had to sew on patches in Boyscouts. Suck on that, big spender.

By Robert Kijowski

 

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