No Turning Back, I'm a
Skinhead, Great!
No
Turning Back, I'm a Skinhead, Great! |
 |
I will always
remember the first time I saw some skins. I was 15
and coming out of the lobby of a hotel in London
with my family and onto the streets. As we waited
for a cab, right in front of us, four oisters with
bright, cherry red docs, tight Levis, crombies and
flights, moved in front of us as though they ruled
the world. No fucking around! They were sharp,
bald, and bad. |
We got a cab, and all I could
think of was the skins and how I must have looked
to them- a long-haired, baggy-pants American wimp.
For the first time in my life, I realized I had
been sucked in to a rock and roll, hip-hop
lifestyle by my friends in high school USA. |
 |
 |
As we drove through the city, I
began to get a strong feeling that forced me to
realize that I too wanted to shave my head, put on
the skin tight jeans, and those high, polished to
the hilt boots. What pride they had! Hey face it,
they looked like real guys. Not dandied up fags. |
Of course, at this point I
didn’t even know what they were called. But next
morning I escaped from the folks, and wandered
down into Piccadilly Circus. And within 20min, I
started up a conversation with a skin in a pinball
parlor. And OI, I found out about boots and
braces, and what it meant to be a skin. Then and
there I made a promise to myself. No longer would
I be a "wanker," but a skinhead- Docs, tats and
all. And I’ve kept that promise ever since.
When I returned to the states I talked to my
best buddy Feldman about the skins and their
philosophies, their work traditions, their bald
heads, and he said "Hey, let’s do it." As he
borrowed his dad’s GI clippers and I started to
get my first buzz-cut. Well, rad dreams became rad
reality. |
 |
 |
When we both looked in the
mirror, we were bald as hell. I could only think
this was it. No turning back. I was a skinhead.
Great! |
Getting the docs and braces in
the states proved to be a hassle. But in NYC I
found a skin-shop, 99X, and wow! Everything I
would have ever needed to be a real skin- all it
took was money. The first day of the fall term at
school I awoke early, all excited about the
thought of the "new me." Walking into school as a
skin…how would my pals react? And mainly, my
girlfriend Jen, what would she say? As I put on my
Fred Perry, straight-leg Levis, tube socks, and
then put my right foot into my 14-eyelet, black,
steel-toed docs with white laces, that funny
feeling started again. And by the time I had both
boots on, and laced up as tight as I could get
‘em, and rolled up my jeans, and hefted my braces
over my shoulders, and looked at the full length
me- Oh shit, I was a sharp, proud skinhead. And as
I walked to school, to the stares and comments of
some of my schoolmates, I didn’t give a fuck
because I was now a real skinhead. And when Jen
saw me, and started to tease and rub my bald
head…well, you know what happened- horny skin
power. |


 |
 |
I’m now 18 years old, a college
freshman, working in a car wash, and hell, it
still feels good every time I skin up. And hey I’m
still horny, still proud and still keeping the
faith.
So if you’re into the scene, or care to
comment, email me at
oidirk@hotmail.com
-Dirk |
|