Specialist News

Fashion over Function
Style over Substance

Superficiality takes precedence in most of our life’s decisions. The fact that a sequel to Sex in City even exists is proof that the average human brain is not well equipped to handle actual poignant content and that people are more apt to push aside a Nobel Prize winner if hes blocking your view of a roller skating chimp.

In relationships men will put up with anything for a girl who’s halfway cute. Not just the regular byproducts of the archaic remnants of chivalry like opening doors and pulling out chairs. A man would let a woman repeatedly punch him in the dick if she filled out a dress like one of those new overdeveloped store mannequins that you only see in places where the shopping center lies somewhere between the housing projects and the liquor store. Intelligence and compatibility are non factors in the selection of a mate.

Women are not exempt. If Brad Pitt broke into your house and took a shit on your living room floor, you would place his excrement in a gilded box labeled in the most painstaking caligraphy “Pitts Precious Droppings”. When I come to your crib and poop in your bed, you go and call the cops. The only label i leave with is, “that muhfucka that shit on my new duvet cover”. Difference between me and him? Hes rich and attractive. Substance means nothing in that equation.

Homeboy Sandman’s new song “Yeah, But I Can Rhyme Though” speaks on the modern convention of attributing someone’s marketability in music to their looks rather than their actual skill at their craft. The concept that you have to meet some of the social norms to produce quality.

Yea, he wears sweatpants and has a crazy beard and his hairline starts at the back of his neck, but he can rap his ass off.

The weirdest people are often the most creative. Dressing well or pouting at the camera doesn’t help you put double entendres and layered sounds together on a track. Of course the packaging steers you towards the product, but if you design the package before you thought of its contents all we are left with is a pretty box and disappointment.

Yea, but I Can Rhyme Though