Courtney Looks Pissed

My favorite homeless person was a bum that I saw about six years ago. He was wearing a faded Shonen Knife T-shirt that somebody had thrown away. The creep was serving an actual useful purpose-specifically, of declaring that the '90s were safely dead.

But now it's the summer of 2006, and we'll soon see the Ghost of '90s Past as some woman digs out her own Shonen Knife T-shirt out from storage. She'll check herself out in the mirror, and imagine herself looking very stylish and cool and hip. She will most likely be wearing this shirt on the L train. She will be a SPINster (as in Spin magazine).

There are too many SPINsters in this town, and we seem to be on the verge of more appearing every day. This is not to say that there's something wrong with ladies who commit the sin of growing older. New York City is full of stunning older women who can get away with wearing any damn thing they want. You'll usually see them taking the 1 train to Lincoln Center.

Any woman has the right to choose her personal style, and then stay with it through the vagaries of fashion. The problem with SPINsters is that they're staying with a look that was already moronic back when they were jotting down fashion tips out of fanzines. Now these desperate dotbrains are out to wallow in their past mistakes.

Here's a reliable SPINster checklist: Eyeglasses that have become so shrill or funky or wide that they're worthy of glam-era Elton John. Handbags that have become so oversized and kooky that they resemble a Sid & Marty Krofft reference straight from an old issue of "Ben Is Dead." Big, clunky shoes as once endorsed by Sassy, worn with flowery vintage skirts and a black leather motorcycle jacket that's supposed to look like it was swiped from an old boyfriend who, in reality, never existed.

The SPINster seldom wears socks or stockings. That might cover up the faded ankle tattoo.

And their accessories: Holy Christ, their bright and shiny accessories that have taken over their clothes and crawled over their ears and straight up into the hair that's stacked high because it's grown so long, so long in defiance of a society that's telling SPINsters that they "need to wear short hair just because they're over a certain age." Either that, or it's a close-cropped dykey haircut meant to invoke how the SPINster wore her hair back in high school when she was the only punk rocker in her entire 10th grade class. She's not talking about MTV punk, you know! The hair color is some damaged brassy tint that was once red or orange. In worst-case scenarios, it has been dyed pink. In lieu of practicing macramé, SPINsters will often have artistic braided hairstyles that seem possessed by the spirit of Sacheen Littlefeather-or some other dame without an ounce of true ethnic spirit. There are no SPINsters with gray hair. That would be impossible, because then they might look sexy.

There's no great insight at work here. Marketers have been keeping notes on SPINster variants for years. I know, because I was in the marketing biz during a peak period for cashing in on the reliable habits of future SPINsters. These days, they'd be placed under a category called something like "Bourbon & Calgon."

And yet we all have our own distinct categories, including those hot older women who've beat the SPINster curse. It might be fair to wonder why, exactly, is it so important to dwell upon and ridicule these would-be dames?

Because they need to know it's not working.

If you're a woman, the SPINsters might look like a fun collection of vintage fashion bloopers. Heterosexual males of a certain age know the SPINsters' true intent. These women aren't simply dressing like idiots because they're rushing to the next step of being the Crazy Cat Lady. No, these evil bitches are perpetuating the same passive-aggressive bullshit that sent us guys running from their futons in the first place.

The SPINsters want to be reminders of a guy's own miserable past. There's no other excuse for this kind of public spectacle. They're sitting on that L train with a look that's screaming: "Boy howdy, lookit me! I'm nothing like all the boring women who went on to marry all those bastards who wasted my youth while sharing the rent! I'm funky and kicky and fresh and loving every minute of it! I'm so happy and fulfilled and super cool that all I have to do is sit here and stare menacingly into space!"

You know what, SPINsters? Guys didn't buy it as comedy, and we don't buy it as tragedy. We sincerely feel bad about how we took advantage of you before and after-and quite often during-those D Generation and Jonathan Fire-Eater shows. Our younger brothers will feel just as bad about those Jesse Malin and Walkmen shows.

Still, a SPINster will never remind us of fabulous women who got away, but of the bullets with butterfly wings that we dodged. We appreciate the gesture, but there's some L'Oreal Natural Match #5c that wants nothing more than to be plucked from a shelf and used on your head as you get along with your life. What you are is history, is past, is done. Move toward the goddamned light.