Dear What The Fuck,
I just like to be dirty. I have always been like this. There is a kind of hoodoo to it, this idea of bringing all of the vibes from a long bike tour with me in the form of dirt and raunchy smells.
As a rule for a fulfilling life, I try to spend most of my time getting dirty. I more or less spend the rest of my time trying to stay dirty. It borders on a weird obsession which, unsurprisingly, very few people understand.
I read in a magazine once that if you wear the same cotton tee shirt five days in a row, you can cultivate the microbiome in your pits to smell less like actual ass and more like an irresistible pheromone infused musk. I think that’s probably fake and wrong, but it’s what I tell people when they ask me why my cycling kit is so dirty. It’s also why my roommates banned me from hanging my inside out chamois in the living room window to “air out”.
In the pursuit of maintaining a complex and nuanced funk I shower only when strictly necessary—on rare occasions it gets so bad even I can’t stand to be in the same room as myself—and only using certain products and methodologies I’ve cultivated over the years. For example, in the cosmetics aisle of your local hippie food store between the patchouli oil and the Dr. Bonner’s, you might be lucky enough to find a bar of pine tar soap. It smells like campfire and it seems to get the dirt off without making me feel stripped and squeaky like a new potato. In the salad dressing aisle you will find Organic unfiltered Apple Cider Vinegar. I use this to wash my hair. I’m pretty broke (obviously), so I really mean it when I say that if you use apple cider vinegar on your hair and rinse it in the shower, and it doesn’t make your hair soft as fuck, I will personally give you your money back.
Imagine a baby chinchilla but with a long and flowing mane. Imagine squeezing a warm stick of butter in your hands but without the grease. What you are imagining is how my hair feels after I massage vinegar into my scalp and rinse.
The last and possibly most important tenet in my lifelong pursuit of stank is my belief that smells emanating from the body are good and desirable whereas smells coming out of your mouth, are not. There is something gloriously animal about sweaty outside funk that shouts “I work hard, play hard, and as a result I have really sexy legs”. Conversely, if you open your mouth and exhale the reek of death, it’s game over dude. That’s why, and I’m quite convinced of this one, God literally parted the clouds and lowered down a little box of toothpicks as the greatest gift to mankind. I’m also pretty sure that this is the reason that a bike jersey has three pockets. Two for bidons and the middle one for a box of toothpicks, and maybe an extra Blueberry Crisp Clif bar. I could live without showers but take away my toothpicks and you best believe I’ll be whittling-down pine branches to get my fix.
So look, yes I’m dirty and funky and technically I stink, but I have a system; Pine Tar, Salad Dressing and Toothpicks. What The Fuck do you think about my system? Can I be dirty and taken seriously?