jackassworld

As you may have heard, we own Big Brother again, and as such, we recently received all the photos, videos, etc. They’re contained in a dozen or so large boxes which are now stored in the ladies restroom in our office. (I’m not sure who’s decision that was, but it seems to make sense?) Taking a trip down memory lane, I pulled out a binder and started flipping through the sheets of slides. I immediately recognized it was the DC European Super Tour issue, but I didn’t recognize the first picture I pulled out of its sleeve.

“Who the fuck is that?” I thought marveling at the tiny image. At first I thought Dimitry had just snapped off a street photo of some goofy German tourist, but the closer I stared, the more familiar it got. “Wait. I know that guy!”

It’s Tremaine. Fucking Euro-goofy boy, Tremaine.

At the time this photo was shot, DC had just hit the big times, and thus had the money and the cred to do just about anything they damn well pleased. And they damn well did. And then sent it to us. (My hunch was that Jeff was some sort of focus group or test case for the shoe giant?) The Big Brother offices were awash in DC apparel and schwag and no one was more eager to model the bizarre shoes and ill-fitting garments made from the most unnatural, synthetic materials in the world, than Jeff Tremaine. Cliver was a close second, but no one on earth could touch Tremaine when it came to the lack of artistry he displayed with the ensembles he put together. This photo is a perfect example of what our editor-in-chief looked like on a daily basis in the office. And he is not wearing this outfit to be ironic, or silly, no, this is a serious and calculated fashion statement. From that Yogi Bear fuckin’ hat all the way down to his Ronald McDonald hiking boots, every item he’s wearing is meant to be where it is.

I have to admit I was a little jealous during that period. Those guys would seriously get at least one giant box of shit from DC every week. I, however, was (and still am) suffering from a fashion hangover that dates all the way back to the punk era, with a hint of grunge. (“When grunge comes back,” my wife likes to say, “Dave’ll be ready!”) So even if I were able to slip into a pair of silky, silver DC basketball shorts and stroll down the street like it’s a perfectly normal way to dress, I was philosophically unable to don their garments. I was hesh, they were fresh. To better describe the fresh side of things at this time, I’m going to turn it over to Cliver. While he didn’t do it with the same blind fervor that Jeff did, he, too, covered himself head to toe in DC apparel on a near daily basis. Plus he lived with Tremaine, so he might be able to explain his behavior a little better than I can. Sean?

Thanks, Dave. Those were indeed the days. I have little to no fashion sense myself, a conjoined consequence of being lazy, working in the skateboard industry for 18 years, and not really giving a consumerist fuck, so I’ve always labeled my style, or lack thereof, “Waredrobe By Free.” As such, it’s varied slightly throughout the years with my various “sponsors.” That particular era of DC clothing was a modest stretch for me, to be sure, but there was a certain amount of silliness taken in wearing the silky, jock-like apparel. Unfortunately, those synthetic garments also hot-boxed your balls and made them sweat more than Dimitry’s forehead on a warm summer’s day, a swampy condition that doesn’t promote healthy sperm production in the least. (Come to think of it that just may explain Tremaine’s later lackluster performance in the jackass “Spermathon.”)

However, I must admit that even I was a bit more discerning than Tremaine when it came to wearing clothes out of the box. While yes, it does appear he just woke up and dressed himself with the first articles of clothing he picked up off the floor before rushing out to grab his morning coffee and muffin—which he did, on many occasions—he was, without a doubt, fairly calculated in his mismatching of garments. I know this because he’s a painter at heart and by no means colorblind.

There was, however, a brief period of time around 1997 when Tremaine abandoned the “free” look and adopted a more professional attire to suit our new Beverly Hills office in the LFP building with an assortment of thrift store suits. Topped off by a mustache. This ill-conceived fashion phase didn’t last very long, though, because no one could look him in the face and take him seriously. Especially Kosick. Granted, the above photo doesn’t exactly scream “RESPECT” either—unless perhaps it’s coming from those mired in the equally fashion-challenged world of hip-hop, but even then I’d have to imagine they’d have some vestige of common sense to draw the line at this get-up.

—dave carnie and sean cliver