Just like anything else in life, deciding on a shampoo, hairspray or gel can become the sum of your parts. This means I can tell what kind of house you live in, what side of town you come from, and what your socioeconomic background probably is just from watching you place a bottle of White Rain hairspray in your shopping cart without giving it a second thought.
Shame on you.
In the early 80's one could get away with buying White Rain hairspray because it was still a progressive choice. Aerosol was still really new and futuristic, and if you could sculpt your hair with the press of a button, thus creating a cloud of sticky, alcohol-laden, bad smelling hair product, then you were ready for a night on the town. Synthesizers were optional.
But no longer is this behavior acceptable.
How is White Rain still occupying shelf space these days?
Who is buying this stuff?
I'll tell you--it's the same people who wish Jerry Springer would make a comeback and that his security guard, Steve, would do a full pictorial in Play Girl. The kinds of people who think a dinner party involves TV dinners and 13 TiVoed episodes of Cops while sipping on can after can of Milwaukee's Best.
People who daydream about the Publisher's Clearing House Prize Patrol showing up at their doorstep, handing them a before-taxes, oversized check for $1,000,000, while they stand there, mouth agape, with a head of hair that looks about as frizzy and sticky as cotton candy because their White Rain is doing its job.
And that is just scraping the bottom of the barrel.
If White Rain is expressly made for white trash who live in trailer parks out in the country, then LA Looks gel is for white trash who have made their way into the city--somehow defying all odds, landing themselves in a used home from the 1970's with an overgrown lawn, a plastic kiddie pool in the back, rusted Hotwheels buried in an unkempt sandbox, and an alley full of scattered trash behind their house.
I've done an anthropological study. Believe me.
For this breed of human, LA Looks provides them with the kind of greasy, brushed back look that helps hold their dandruff in place, glued to their scalp with little chance for escape. And if they've developed a bald spot, even better. They use LA Looks gel to fortify their combover.
White Rain and LA Looks put subpar on the map.
But hippies who use the horse shampoo Mane ‘n Tail really put the humor back into life. They want to use a product that hasn't been tested on animals, yet is made exclusively for an animal. If that isn't a paradox then I don't know what is. They want a product that will make their long, stringy hair shine, yet keeps their mane somehow looking wonderfully unwashed and uncared for.
And finally, for the person who has never applied for a passport, but wants to look cultured and refined, there is Aussie shampoo.
It makes those who buy it think they've been to Australia, or at the very least think that their shampoo of choice is an expensive import because there is a kangaroo on the front of the bottle. Opting for the Aussie Moist product seals the deal--they are a huge douche.
I could go on for hours. There are a lot of hair products that own the owner. People are drawn to certain choices in life because the thought of wearing a hairnet at work sends a chill down their spine.
And buying the aforementioned hair care products really helps to make their dreams a reality.
The disclaimer: From 1989-1993 I used White Rain, religiously--what can I say, I thought I wanted to be a preacher. From 1994-1999 I used LA Looks--and in some ways, I still want to be the douchey bad guy from RoboCop 2.
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