Category Archives: The white girl hustle

And my jewels blue and yellow/The type of shit that make ’em call you Carmelo*. (*2003-2011; “blue and orange” hasn’t been rhymed with anything yet)

1. Long hair she don’t care, when she walk she get stares. All Waka songs are about pretty white girls, I just realized. This is one of the Top 10 things about being a white girl this week. And I know for certain that “6’7” is, in turn, about gigantic, beautifully-cheekboned Waka who happens to be just that many feet and inches tall. (Wayne’s got a crush on him, along with almost all white girls in my neighborhood).

That’s how you do the blonde-lady lounge: in black and white or muted tones, and thigh-highs holding tight to your milky skin of course.
Amanda in Interview.

YES. Yes. Yep. Oh god. Blonde lady with skinny legs, gazing toward the future. You can’t deny it.
Lily in London.

Jeisa in Marie Claire. She is, sadly, not blonde, though we must still accept her as one of our own. The brown-haired are welcome at our board meetings and conventions but their powers will always be limited.
(even if they have beautiful curvy shapes on their bodies; please refer to photo immediately above)

Looking pretty and thoughtful at the same time is my overall goal in life (now that I have my master’s degree).

2. Today we are pouty that we didn’t get cast in that Gucci/Soulja/Gotti video and I will have to report this matter to the union, but white girls? We’re still doing all right for ourselves this week, looking fine and doing important stuff. We’re waiting for that Curren$y mixtape, posing in front of mirrors, wearing our red trenches on dreary days, lounging hard, wondering why a perfectly lovely Dilla beat was wasted by some jackass on a song called “Man Purses.” And we’re doing laundry and grocery shopping, of course, because we’re kind of boring during the week.

3. The tomboyish among us are discussing the ‘Melo trade at work and with our brother because we want to keep up with the world, but we’re really not that interested. Snoozeville. Besides, our favorite headband-wearer is Baron Davis, and we are sad he got shipped away so it’s hard to get excited about the stupid NBA right now. Plus we only care about the Knicks when they turn up in lyrics by the residents of various NYC boroughs. We can endlessly talk about that condition Blake Griffin has that makes his eyes so close together, though. An unfortunate face, that one’s got. And we love Charles Woodson and his solidarity with the nonwealthy working class (which, despite our Alexander Wang bag, we are still a proud part of).

4. We like that new PJ Harvey but not as much as the old, and we were reminded by witchy godmother Stevie Nicks on the radio today that Players only love you when they’re play-innnnnn. That’s some wisdom, mama – right up there with It’s OK to eat fish cuz they don’t have any feelings and Write down blog ideas during boring meetings at work (sit in the back and lay low, dummy).

5. We love that “The Pot” came on LA radio today when we were driving!; oh god, it turned the inside of the Civic into something cinematic and cool, thanks Justin Chancellor’s swampy bass–“the midrange cut and punch for which he is known,” a quote boosted from Wikipedia but only because it’s so dope. Midrange cut and punch, like a fighter. And we’re still high from the four-plus minutes of Metallica we heard the other day, which was rivaled by Today’s Other Best Song Heard While Out and About, “A Pair of Brown Eyes,” at the gas station (????!!?). The tune just hangs out in a girl’s head hours after she hears it, and we were curious about the lyrics so we looked up both “Where the Water-Lilies Grow” and Ray and Philomena when we got home. We want to do well in music nerdery when we finally make it to Jeopardy! It’s not about impressing Ken Jennings, though–he’s not our type; we’re more into the computer.

(We loved the Pogues when we were 16, having successfully completed our Beatles phase at 15. It was a perfect fit because we liked feeling that life was tragic but we still loved melody and Elvis Costello. We also believed that if it were 1983-88 and we were of age, we could’ve gotten into their shows for free based simply on the fact of being named Logan–the Gaelic discount).

6. Back at HQ, we liked that Kurupt kameo in that Snoop video. WE LOVE KURUPT. We also liked that a song called Gangbang Rookie” turned out to not be about what we first thought it was going to be about based on its title. That was a close one.

7. Then, taking it to the eastern seaboard, we liked two-thirds of that Rae/Ghosty/Rawss song; one-third of it we hated. (We don’t like the fattest one’s verse, or his voice.)

What we really liked, specifically: a) Rae bragging about “swimmin through life,” because that’s what we’re doing too only we never thought to put it that way; b) Ghosty saying “We in the back roastin marshmallows, bottles of Cru” (not the kind of roasting a marshmallow on Urban Dictionary, perv; is that even a real thing?); and c) this, from Rae:

Holdin my girl wedding ring,
She Medellín, name is Beretta King
Live in Alpharetta, and she never leave me”

We know from a thousand songs by males that the perfect woman is, alas, not a white girl. We hate that. How disappointing. The perfect woman is either an American- or Italian-made car, or a firearm (a loyal firearm, in Rae’s case). She’s also Colombian and lives in Georgia. Sigh. We’ve always been pretty fucking down when it comes to supporting our dude, we’re willing to hold weight, but we have been humbled here. We simply cannot compete with this girl. We are too hard on ourselves sometimes, trying to be all things to all people. We should remember we have our own gifts, our strong suits–Kanye will always love us, we can always get knocked up in someone’s suite after the All-Star Game and get fucking PAID dog, and we have the power and smarts to make invisibility cloaks happen! We’re also thinking of becoming architects, while still doing our makeup in glittery pinks and purples like we’re about to go to our night job at Magic City.

8. Abbey Clancey. We like this look and we’re confident we can replicate it since we are also a skinny-legged glasses-wearing blonde with too much eyeliner. We’ll never be mistaken for a member of Warpaint but that’s OK.

Abbey’s famous for being hot (British standards, though–not American hot) and for entrapping an athlete with her vagina. We respect this. Ha ha, gentlemen; you’re just mad because you fear female sexuality and your physical limitations prevent you from taking part in this particular hustle.

9. Even our mailman and the OG white lady fox (Mom) are geeked about Odd Future at this point. This is annoying but not at all surprising. You can try to stop a freight truck but then you just give up ’cause you have weak Mr. Burns arms and it goes whooshing by, delivering LA rap to the midwest and the east. We hate that the fucking Spin article about them ended with “the future is going to be very Odd”; it literally made us go UGGHHH. OH GODDDD at the bookstore and we tossed the magazine aside in a mini-tantrum. Oh but the newest and best thing about the Fairfax boys is their affiliate Frank. We love Frank and we’d never play Drake* if Frank were in the Civic with us (since we HATE DRAKE).

* verse 2, “Songs for Women.”


The Pogues – “Maidrín Rua” (Little Fox)


10. Annnnnd we liked this.

We really liked this a lot! Thanks, Tumblr.


Pull up in your town, when you see me you know everything

green and yellow green and yellow, green and yellow green and yellow.
Katherine Ann Moss for Longchamp. This outfit is probably cop catnip but I don’t care.

June Gardner (Sam Cooke’s drummer!) – “Mustard Greens.” Because a girl can’t walk down the street wearing a dress and feeling the sun on her skin to “For Kate I Wait.”



White girl side hustle opportunity I missed #4 (other than going to Dallas to valiantly help out with the stripper shortage)

Gettin paid for lounging half-nakedly, mostly showin some hips n ass but showin a little front too, for The Loved One

and for Free People.

OHGOD I would KILL this shot if I weren’t afraid of looking like I was offering my body up for sale due to the vulgarity of my hips. I do this pose EVERY DAY, alone in apt. 15, simply for my own enjoyment. I’m doing it right now, matter fact.

Funkadelic – “Can You Get to That.” Y’know, ’cause I’m just loungin without my pants on and who better to provide the sounds than George and the crew. The song’s about a breakup but that bassline says otherwise. PS, Can you get to that was like a more formal version of You dig, right? Or maybe more like the ’70s version of You feel me.


Ski Beatz – “Taxi” (instro). ‘Cause the words are kind of sad but that beat is not and it is suitable for loungin, dar-linnnn.


Just Blaze – “Exhibit C” (instro). BECAUSE IT WILL NEVER GET OLD, and because Laboe played “Cross My Heart” the other night when I was driving and I almost crashed by the Chevron station on Temple.


Seu Jorge – “Rebel Rebel.” Because sometimes I fuck around and tell people I’m Brazilian, and they believe me, because I have both a trustworthy face and an ethnically ambiguous face. And because I couldn’t find Caetano Veloso’s “Não Identificado.”


Isaac Hayes – “Hung Up on My Baby.” BECAUUUUUSE! I don’t need no “because”! Just listen to it. Plus it’s Isaac, and he has a no-pants rule. I would also like to inform you that I make big money, I drive big cars/Everybody know me.



Like to let her hair down when the sky gets sunny*.

(*you rack your brain for lyrics about ladies and half the songs are actually about cars.)

Georgia May Jagger proves that if you are 5’7” (model stats; it means she’s actually 5’5 1/2”) and blonde-highlighted, life is perfect. Lounge-y. Sunshiny. (like old OutKast instrumentals). If it weren’t for SWINE, that is.







I love it all, this whole spread. And I have versions of everything here in my closet, except for that button-up Dior up there, which I wish I had because I would certainly wear it, shoulder ties and all. It’s cop catnip, though. Cops love me. My style of dress. My good posture. My skinny body, I guess. Thus, How can I continue to dress like this while keeping cops away is the most important topic in my life right now. I need help with it, like understanding Talib getting a distribution assist from Duck Down (???!?) and how to get Doomsy on as a keynote speaker at the next TED conference. Cops, they love me and I do not care for it (unless he’s a cool cop, the ones that only exist in movies, a realllll loose cannon with a fucking sweet car and a King Kong-sized ego like detective Alonzo Harris–call me!–or one who gets caught up like Brasco–CALL ME–or even Mr. Orange ’cause he kind of had a good heart plus he was a great storyteller).

There has to be some answer here. I would like to continue to be a dress-up babydoll, but I do not want to be visually patted-down by police officers every day when I get my coffee. (I live in the Rampart division and I work downtown, so what do you expect–the Starbucks at 2nd and Central is particularly thick with them) This is not my most organized set of sentences but basically what I mean to say is that just because that lady in line behind you is wearing some nice white linen shorts and an oxford shirt doesn’t mean she doesn’t prowl the Internet daily for new Curren$y stuff and old Dilla stuff. You and your stereotypes, I swear.

“Spottieottie” instro. Ha, see, ’cause they’re from Georgia.



Messy-haired pink-nailed fabulous white ladies waitin round for GZA with blank expressions who are not named Logan.

Which record label? CHESS, of course.

Bo Diddley – “Shut Up, Woman.” Don’t you say a word, ‘cause you might get me excited.


Eddie Bo – “Check Your Bucket.” 00:04 – 00:06. It’s that sound that describes you about to go in for a neck kiss because you’ve been looking at me and I am so delicious you can’t hardly stand it.


Bo Diddley – “Bo Diddley.” Because it’s Bo, and it’s meta, and because PATTIN JUBA, and because just like how you should have a pretty dope “Shook Ones” freestyle if you’re an MC, you should be able to lay something down on top of this if you are any good at singing. (Or rapping.)



White girl side hustle opportunity I missed #3.

White girls! This week we’re doing the gross and unspeakable with the sex parts of Charlie Sheen (in Vegas) and creepy old David Duchovny (in front of Showtime cameras) — we’re not third in line for the presidency anymore, so we are sad and acting out sexually. Our band with M. Ward isn’t really doing big things right now either. Coachella is our Gathering of the Juggalos but it is still months away. So, Radric arrives to save the day. Of course.

Gucci loves us and that’s been our bread and butter for the last couple years–hanging out and ending up in a verse of his. A couple years ago he liked our naked dancing at spring break. Today a Gucci hang will probably get you described as Cyndi Lauper (again) but it means you get to be in Waka’s general area and sing that hook (in your head) to that song by Best Coast*, she who understands stifled white girl longing and lust.

All-black Phantom, pulled up to the opera/Bad white bitch, call her Cyndi Lauper.

*I wish he was my boyfriennnnnnnnd. (the one on the right)
It’s Gucci 2 times, but it really should be WAKA 2 TIMES. Or if I had my way, 100 times. We can walk around the lake and he’ll try to touch my bottom and I’ll pretend to get mad at first but secretly I won’t be mad. (sorry, girl games. We are trained since childhood to behave this way). At some point in our conversation I’ll gently press the Bills hat issue. What’s the meaning, why is it so ill-fitting, etc.

Then there were posts of “H.A.M.” by understated class machine K. West, who of course never shuts up about how he hates to love my kind.

But I’ve been practicing with some actresses as bad as shit
And a few white girls, asses flat as shit

But the head so good, damn a n—a glad he hit

Got em jumpin out the building

Watch out below, a million out the door.

I would call this a mini battle of the white girl hang-out opportunities on Internet rap songs, Georgia vs. Illinois, 01/11/11, except you can keep your Kanye hang-out opportunities, thank you. Not interested. If I wanted to be a lyrical accessory in fellatio raps I’d go to the recording sessions for that Dipset mixtape and pretend it’s ’05 when I still cared about them. My several hundred problems with Kanye include his life-is-a-woman metaphor in song getting really quite old; as an English major I can’t support cliche raps. Really, the fact that Lex is 19 years old (!) is the only part of this outfit that gives me hope.


White girl side hustle opportunity I missed, #2

If my agent were doing his job I would’ve gotten the role of Girl #3 (the one who purloins some powder on the side) in Sheek’s “Cocaine Traffic King” video, which
features an exceedingly clean kitchen,
and Styles P as a cartoony, completely non-threatening version of Nino Brown.

Basically the gig would consist of me wearing my hair down, wearing panties, trying not to cringe at lines like “(her) face in my crotch/eyes on my watch,” and getting excited and yelling D-BLOCKKKK when the urge strikes. I already do all that, so I might as well get filmed and paid for it.
I’d ask P where he got that sweatshirt and brag about how the Raiders are going to be atop the AFC when this damn season is over. I’d stifle the question, “You’re from Yonkers; how come you aren’t wearing Jets gear?” And in my head, I’d play a spirited round of Dumbest Rap Names to pass the time on set (Sheek Louch, Red Cafe, Waka, CyHi da Prynce; Best Rap Name, though? Earl Sweatshirt).

OJ – “Washing Powder Money.”



White girl side hustle opportunity I missed: N.E.R.D. on Letterman

N.E.R.D., “Hypnotize You.” Letterman, 09/28/10. Can you spot me?

(This is what it would have looked like had I been informed of this casting opportunity.)

Pharrell hired a bunch of underweight girls with that good hair to wear white tanks and sit and just keep on sitting for the duration of his terrible song. This is a performance for which I’m sure he paid them handsomely. Accordingly, I need a better agent.

I often acknowledge that my ethnic identity group is full of corny types. We’re super annoying at the club ’cause we can’t shake it*and our latest favorite song to get slutty to on the dancefloor is Wiz’s “Black and Yellow,” a song all over LA radio that’s produced by 2 Norwegians who are experts in making catchy R&B so of course white girls love it. So the Letterman gig above is something I may not have taken right away, because it’s corny. Pharrell in ’10 is nothing like Pharrell in ’02 when he was amazing and Nore-affiliated–I mean everything in my Honda’s CD player during those days had some kind of spy chord. But, but, I still would’ve done taken the white tank top job eventually, because Pharrell is really cute and probably always will be, and because during rehearsals he and I could’ve debated whether Talking Book is superior to Innvervisions or is that just something people like to throw around, and because hey, white ladies like to get paid just like everyone else. We are coming up in the world as rapper accessories, which makes us like the new…Skypagers? Anyway, I haven’t been this proud of us since we were Bishop Don’s lap ornament at Andre 3000’s wedding, and then there was my cousin who made an appearance as Juelz’s pale-skinned jumpoff in “Beamer Benz,” providing something called becky. You remember. She made him almost crash his Bentley. : (

* unless you’re talking about me. I can shake it.

Major Mackerel – “Pretty Looks Done.” Just saying, ladies. Cash in while you can.