Nov 5, 2015
Back again with the #DHOE mix Vol. 5,
because class of 2010 5-year reunion bih!
Cop the 'tape here.
Nov 8, 2014
|This ain't your Granddaddy's mixtape, jack.|
Anywho, in the spirit of homecoming, I'm back once again with the 4th installment of D.H.O.E. playlists. For whatever reason, I had no intentions of making one this year. But, per requests, I managed to put together a li'som'n for y'all.
Cop the tape HERE. And please, as always, drink responsibly, my g's.
UPDATE: If you were one of the first to download the 'tape, yours is missing Track 3. Please disregard if this is your first time here. Peace!
Nov 15, 2013
“Where were you when you first fell in love with du-rags?” she asked, as we sat in the park people-watching and rehashing last night’s episode of Scandal.
My first du-rag was a family heirloom, handed down from my older brother, who also doubled as my barber.
There it sat on the bathroom counter--a small, mysterious, black mound of silk. I knew nothing of this foreign apparatus, its origin or its purpose.
But the moment when my brother brushed my hair, put the du-rag on my head, and I stood in front of the mirror watching the cape flow gracefully down to my shoulders, I knew that it was the security blanket to my Linus Van Pelt, the wand to my Harry Potter, th- the tuxedo to my Janelle Monae.
I slept in it. Hooped in it. Wore it under hats. Wore it when I read. Wore it when I did yard work. Wore it after a fresh haircut. Wore it when I was in desperate need of a cut. Wore it in public like a purple heart, an Olympic medal.
That. Du-rag. Made. Me. Feel. Invincible.
My collection expanded—white cotton, black satin, camouflage, one’s without the seam down the center, one’s with long strings, one’s with short strings, one’s with two-tones before color-blocking was a *thing*. I had a du-rag for every day of the week, and 2 for Sunday.
I began to notice that the strings of my du-rag left a line across my forehead, so even when I didn’t have it on, it still felt like it was with me, like a guardian angel, y’all. A constant reminder of the inseparable, indescribable bond shared between a Black man and his du-rag.
After wearing the same du-rag for many, many years, and accidentally leaving it home during a recent vacation, I was forced to purchase a new one. Much to my surprise, the cape was sleeker, more refined, more contoured than my first. The stitching was fortified, the silk was silkier. The work of a quality craftsman. It was this new du-rag technology and a suggestion from @Natelege that inspired me to write this post. One day, I’ll pass my du-rag down to my son, and he’ll pass it down to his son, and so forth and so on. Just like the stories of Harriet Tubman and Jackie Robinson, I just felt like the importance of du-rags should be documented in the annals of history.