when i was in eighth grade, i was in love with my friend's much older (17!!!) brother, M. M had somehow already acquired an entire body of tattoos and piercings, had a full part-time job, and chain smoked like a union boss. he also listened to ICP in his car, which i was blessed to sometimes be driven to school, Taco Bell, and exotic downtown Royal Oak skate shops in. i tried to like them for his sake, but was, um, a girl who read books and stuff. but like most other Michiganders who grew up in the 90s, i can't help but have a soft spot for this hometown duo:
juggalos, as the family of ICP fans are known, embrace their freakdom as putting an in-your-FACE on the underbelly of the (mostly white) lower class.
part thug life, Satan worship, Lord of the Rings nerd alert, and just plain ridiculously terrible music, the hidden part of ICP is they are international fashion capitalists; a true juggalo owns enough ICP t-shirts to go under enough ICP hoodies to match his ICP shoes so he can kick back and read an ICP magazine with ICP ads for more ICP stuff.
as much as the Williamsburg art crowd like looking like they don't have a trust fund, i don't think they will ever co-opt this particular mode of anti-bourgeoisie.
or begin to understand it.
I was once shoved and locked into a teenage boys car and taken unwillingly to an ICP show (wearing brown overalls, how embarrassing!).....Yeah. But prob still know many a song lyrics to this day :o HA!
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