Below The Fold

My new word: Trendneck (n)— One who has carefully and painstakingly crafted an image so as to appear as a redneck to a casual observer.

I coined the term this weekend, on a trip to Gaetano’s on 38th and Tejon in Denver. A party of eight came in, all young, urban ultra chic punk types. One of the girls looked a bit like Helena Bonham Carter in Fight Club; waifishly thin, wild hair, sallow makeup, long, thift store coat—all of it designed around a homeless look, and yet simultaneously highly manicured. But she wasn’t a trendneck. No, it was her boyfriend. He walked in wearing a brand new mesh-back hat with a flat brim, pulled low over a face that sported perfectly trimmed sideburns that came even with the bottom of his nose and then jutted forward into little points. He had a goatee surrounded by a week of stubble, and wore a long sleeved black sweatshirt, over which was a denim jacket from which the sleeves had been cut off. The frayed edges that remained were snow-white suggesting the tailoring had been completed moments before he left the house. He had a tag on the back of his jacket-turned-vest, emblazoned with a Pabst Blue Ribbon symbol. He wore straight-legged jeans that were loose fitting without being baggy and a pair of work boots that I think were Skechers.
Yes, it’s all the rage in Denver now. Not in a “I’m a big Jeff Foxworthy fan,” way, but in a, “I really love Wilco and saw ‘Walk The Line’ seven times already” way. This is the newish subculture that has spawned the PBR resurgence (some places in town charge $3 for one now) at hip lounges all over town. The same guy was probably just sporting a beat up straw cowboy hat last summer, working his way up to taking the full “Dale Earnhardt” plunge.
The best part was when he and his buddy made fun of some other kid all dressed up in contemporary ghetto hood rat.
White trash has never been more en vogue.