Tyler, The Creator - Pitboy - Episode 1
In the first episode PitBoy heads to Koko in Camden to see Tyler, the Creator and Earl Sweatshirt.
I Tried to Sell Cybergoth and Steampunk Gear to ‘Wavey’ Streetwear Kids
In Britain today, subculture is largely a thing of the past. The vast majority of young people just don’t seem interested in seeking out New Rock boots or Moschino-print trousers any more. Now, they just seem to sling on whatever they can find in the high street. They’re less likely to buy a shirt because it says something about who they think they are as a person than they are because it keeps them warm. In a way, you can understand this—being young’s tough enough without people spitting on you because you’ve developed a teenage obsession with The Crow. But by and large it’s a sad fact that comfort has replaced controversy as the order of the day, shopping centers filled with young people happily wandering around, taking selfies, and buying each other muffins and shit from the Disney store, like a bunch of fucking Americans.
Perhaps it’s because KoЯn went dubstep, perhaps it’s because rappers started wearing tight red jeans and glasses without lenses, perhaps it’s because Camden Lock is now just a massive Starbucks and a few stalls selling “Keep Calm” hoodies. Whatever the reasons, youth culture is now undeniably a lot fluffier and nicer than it was in previous generations.
But walk down any high street in any town with a population greater than 10,000 and there is one subculture still kicking against this Hollister-led style pogrom: streetwear culture. Not the one that involves 30-year-old blokes in Bape going to see DJ Vadim at KOKO, but the one that fetishises Snapbacks, bucket hats, North Face, King Krule, post-dubstep, knockout weed and very expensive shoes. The OFWGKTA influenced, Supreme-loving, Palace-worshipping marriage of American skate fashion and British rudeboy attitude. Which, oddly, are two things most people in their mid-twenties could probably never imagine coming together, having spent their teenage years watching skaters and rudeboys attack each other at bus stops.
Like most teenagers, I decided to get out of town for spring break. LA seemed like the best option for me—it was the polar opposite of Salt Lake City—and one fateful mid-March morning I awoke in an unfamiliar UCLA dorm room with Earl Sweatshirt rhymes blasting in my head, a lyrical hangover from the night before.
I ate a banana, laced up my Converse high tops, and threw on my favorite Atlanta Braves sweatshirt (which, I hoped, was the sort of thing a member of Odd Future might compliment), and headed out the door. My quest had begun.
There was no direct road map or GPS tracker to guide me on this journey. I had no idea where I was going. All I had were Earl’s tweets from the day before, which I had already memorized but also saved on my phone just in case I blanked on any important details. He had posed a tantalizing offer to his followers, and I was determined to take him up on it. He had tweeted, “Hai. If you’re in la come to the 7-11 on Olympic and barrington and buy this jersey and meet me. I need lunch money. We’ll be there for 15.” My heart skipped a beat. My favorite living rapper, one who had been missing in action for more than a year, was now back and willing to reveal himself to anyone who would buy an article of his clothing so that he could get a bite to eat.
Minutes after landing in LA, I was once again feverishly checking Earl’s Twitter. “Back to School,” he wrote. “Damn. I’ll still sell this. Tomorrow same time at stoner doe. Maybe.” No one wanted Earl’s jersey, which was sad but worked in my favor. I had another chance. His somewhat cryptic tweet prompted me to google “LA stoner,” which, in addition to numerous references to an herbivorous counterculture, led me to a skate park near Santa Monica, just three miles from my friend’s dorm at UCLA. It was worth a shot.
A few days ago, we discovered Groupie Dirt. Noticing it hadn’t been updated in quite a few years, Noisey decided to contact our more scurrilous acquaintances to get the scoop on bedding some of today’s buzziest bands.
The newly-single Death Cab For Cutie frontman hasn’t wasted any time in getting back into the dating scene. In fact, from what we hear, he never let his marriage to one New Girl stop him from dipping his mic into any stand that would hold it. Apparently, while Zooey was at home knitting, wearing cotton, and talking to Siri, Mr. Gibbard was out chasing tail. Blondes are his choice; think Pam Anderson, pre-reduction surgery. Now double that. One of our sources sent in this note: “The glove compartment/Isn’t accurately named/Because it’s where Ben keeps his Trojan Magnums/Dude loves banging in cars.” Vroom!
We asked Tyler the Creator to tell us his craziest party story. It involves puking, a machete, and grand theft. Needless to say, it’s nuts. Head here for more party stories.
"Hi, I’m Tyler. Some Of You Might Know Me As Tyler The Creator Or That One Guy Who Tries So Hard Thats It’s Borderline Annoying, Or That One Nigga Who Ate The Bug. These Photos You Are Looking At Are By Josh Terris. Josh Takes Photos Of Teenagers Who Do Stupid Shit At Parties. Or Skateboarding. I Actually Think I Seen A Pig In One Of Them. He’s My Friend And Always Wanted To Somehow Do Something With VICE. So Hey, Why The Fuck Not Introduce The World To Him On…. VICE!
PS: We aren’t sure why Tyler is really into capitalizing every word these days, but it’s also fine with us. Just sayin’; that’s how he sent it in, so that’s how we posted it. Check out more of Josh’s (or Josesh’s, if you will) photos over at his tumblr.”