There’s a thin line between inspiration and impression. There was this girl who lived in my neighborhood and a week after whatever I was into, she was into it too. It made me furious. I was the one spending hard earned hours searching for this secret underground, not her. I’d buy magazines like Paper and Punk Planet and read every page. And then I’d wear something retarded and weird to school because Paper said that Lady Miss Kier was into it, and a week later this girl would be wearing the same thing, totally biting my style. I fucking hated her. Although those ideas weren’t “mine” to keep, I did feel a sense of ownership over them—which is total bullshit by the way. But you know what else is bullshit? Style biting. I think for a while I became a bit of a hoarder because I had put so much value on these “things” and I wouldn’t really share them with anyone. I wouldn’t even go see a band I loved play because if anyone loved them as much as I did, it soured my experience, as if there wasn’t enough of the music to go around. I was under the impression that if I gave something away, there would be less for me. And so I hoarded this shit and as I result, I hated everyone and I was miserable. I kept everything cool I knew to myself and in turn, became really uncool as a result.
And then one day I grew the fuck up by giving everything away. When someone told me they liked Bad Brains I said “Me too! They’re so good!” When someone asked where I got my XGirl shirt, I told them. And when they got one too, I told them I liked it. The more this started to happen, the more cool shit came my way. And then I gave that away too. Suddenly my Gargamel-like tower that I lived in above everyone came crashing down, and I became my own Kris Alexanderson. Everything opened up. Sharing my favorite song with a room full of sweating fans became (not to get too Insane Clown Posse), pure motherfucking magic.
- Lesley Arfin for Russh