My Summer Vacation - Part I - Dreadlocks
The missus and I have returned from Sweden, and yes, dear B&E readers, there's much to report.
I think that white people who wear dreadlocks look ridiculous.
In college we sometimes called them Jafaicans or, more often, Trustafarians. But even when I had my luscious head of blond almost-locks, I thought white dudes in dreadlocks looked ridiculous.
As a bald man I still do. I assure you it's not jealousy. I really hate how they look on white people. I've known some very nice dreadlocked white boys (and occasional girls), and it's no reflection on who they are as people. They simply made an unfortunate decision that became a big enough commitment to keep them from being able to cut the fuckers off. Please, dreadlocked white people: cut the fuckers off.
If my lack of acceptance of dreadlocks on white people makes me a fuddy-duddy, so be it.
But what does this have to do with Sweden?
Even though one small town in southern Sweden has taken in more Iraqi refugees than the entire United States, Sweden is decidedly white. Not solely, of course, but when one lives in a diverse place like Queens, one notices overwhelming whiteness. And Sweden is overwhelmingly white. Sort of like Vermont.
And like the hippies in Vermont, many white Swedes have dreadlocks. Of the seven or so black people we saw in Stockholm only one had dreadlocks, and I would have to say that the same 7:1 ratio applies to the white Swedish boys.
Yes, exaggeration, etc., etc. But suffice to say there are a lot of white Swedish boys with dreadlocks. I had a different observation about the white Swedish women (stay tuned!).
You will have noticed that there's no dreadlocks-related photo to accompany the Part I report of My Summer Vacation. That's because there is one photo I wish I had been quick enough to capture on digi-film, but alas was not.
At a cross walk near Nybroplan (where one catches ferries to Djurgarden, etc.), a blond man biked by. He had dreadlocks. He was also balder than me. Shiny shiny shiny up top. Then shooting out of the sides of his head were bright blond dreadlocks.
As I found myself repulsed by the dreads and empathizing with the baldness, I was riveted by this vision of shiny-headed knotted hairdom. My feeble mind cannot grasp the contradiction and complexity of this Swedish cyclist.