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Gos
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By Felipe.
Friday night.
Club Tatou.
Sensory overload.
TDSTDSTDSTDSTDSTDSTDSTDSTDSTDS.........
Trusty mini digital camera in hand, I attempt to navigate across the sardine
packed dance floor as the heavy techno beat threatened to liquify my ear
drums. Kogyaru in sailor fuku to my left, black faced ganguro complete with
ten inch platforms to my right, it seemed the Shibuya fashion tribes were
out in full dress uniform tonight.The brazilian DJ, who looked so strung out
on ectasy his eyeballs were popping out of his head, was furiously mixing as
fast as his chemically enhanced reflexes would allow him.
So your might be wondering why I'm at a place like this, huh? Me, Hikaru
Gosunkugi, voodoo master and baggy eyed freak of Furinkan High. Well, why do
you think I always have these bags under my eyes? I love the clubbing scene.
The Tokyo clubs are probably the best in the world. Ever heard of a place in
the city called Shibuya? Used to be a broke down industrial neighbourhood a
couple of decades ago. A real dump. These days its the teen mecha, fashion,
style and trend center of Tokyo, probably of all Japan. Yep, its my regular
haunt, choc full of yummy photo opportunities. But you already know about
that, don' you? Yep, me and my photo fetish. But don't get me wrong, I'm not
like Kuno-san. I prefer taking the photos. Wait for that perfect kodak
moment. See, you don't look for a good shot. It comes to you, totally
spontaneous and candid, capturing the spirit of that fucking moment. That's
why I always carry around my kawaii little digi cam on my little excursions
into kogal central.
And so here I am, making my way across the writhing mass of bodies, trying
to get to the bar to score a decent drink before I pass out from the heat.
You probably won't recognize me right now. Not with the fudged up, crimped
hairstyle, astroboy shirt, flared girl jeans and platform japtech runners.
Funny how the way you dress and carry yourself makes so much difference in
the way people look at you. At school I might as well be invisible. No one
bothers to notice little Hikaru, snivelling and creepy looking. But here, I
could feel the eyes on me. The guys sizing me up while the gals looking me
carefully up and down. Making sure I've got the right clothes, attitude and
dough before they make their special move.
Ah, the bar at last. "Hey man, gimme a Sub Zero Cherry.", I shout through
the din, a few inches from the bar tender's face. I repeat my order when he
signals back that he didn't hear the first time. A feminine drink for a
pretending-to-be-feminine guy. Girls these days sure love their"bishonen",
which is another word for "pretty boy", or more accurately "feminine lad".
Teenage Japanese society had embraced this concept so much with open arms,
that it turned into a culture by itself. I know a lot of guys from school
getting the whole treatment. Crimped hair, plucked eyebrows, shit , even
makeup. All for the sake of getting pussy. I don't know what the gilrs find
so attractive about a guy trying to look like "that" kind of kawaii, hell I
don't care, but I've seen it work! So I decided to get a piece of the
action, and that, I guess, that explains my current get up right now.
Certainly wouldn't help my cause if I didn't keep up with the latest
threads, certainly not in a club.
Pulling out a menthol, I was about to light up when...
"Hi there."
Ah, the Gods so nice to me.
"Gos? Gosunkugi, is that you?"
Oh, fuck.
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