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A while back, in the Admiral’s Club at Laguardia airport, this youngster caught my attention. Regular looking kid, a bit disheveled in his ill-fitting blue sweatshirt and no-name blue jeans. But something marked him apart: a striped cap with a propeller on top!

Wow.

I remember thinking he’s safe here but that goofy cap would be a death sentence in the schoolyard -certainly in the ones I attended. I mean, what symbolizes dork more than a beanie with a propeller on top? It’s a nerd icon from when nerds were at their nerdiest. Spanky wore one on the ancient TV show, The Little Rascals.

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But in this day and age, an adolescent boy wearing something so silly… in public. He might as well have had a “Kick Me!” sign affixed to his back. I decided to sneak a picture -not to mock him as a person but to document the reality. I uploaded the anonymous photo on Facebook, adding my line about the schoolyard.

The comments came quickly. To my delight they all were deeply supportive of the Beanie Boy. Here’s a perfect example from a Facebook friend, Brian Collins:

I think the kid is astounding. He is wearing it with some pride. And it looks like it’s motorized. Even better. If this makes the kid happy that’s perfect. And he looks deeply engaged on the web, too. Great.

What we don’t need are any more cookie cutter kids dressed in oversized nylon football jerseys, cocked baseball caps and ratty jeans with their lifeless eyes glued to ESPN.

Go, beanie boy, go!

Upon further consideration, Brian is right. My knee-jerk reaction was shortsighted, even ignorant. The Beanie Boy is not a dork. Frankly, he’s anything but. He’s a maverick and a rogue, a lad who’s not afraid to defy convention.

Recently, I compared the typical ad agency creative department to Romper Room. I wrote: “The older I get the more I realize how important it is to stay connected with my “inner child.” The best creative people do not grow out of it when they grow up. We remain inquisitive. Lovers of fun. You see it in our bicycles in the hallway. Our dubious wardrobes. Our playlists. Our silly snapshots on Facebook.”

Indeed, defying convention is what makes us creative. I don’t want to lose that. Ever. And so, young admiral from the Admiral’s Club, I echo the words of my wise friend, Mr. Collins and the champions of creativity everywhere: “Go, beanie boy, Go!”

Author’s note: I wrote about the Beanie Boy before. For me, he never gets old.

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They all look alike. Not!

Upon leaving the new Godzilla movie, my wife and I found ourselves walking behind a couple young boys, perhaps 15 or 16 years old, and we could easily hear their conversation. Excitedly, they were discussing the pros and cons of the film we all just saw. One lamented how relatively little of the monsters actually comprised the movie. “I would have been happy if they spent more time on Godzilla and less time on the father-son stuff,” he said. (Which, by the way, is a fair assessment.) What I loved was his friend’s reply: “Well,” he said, “there’s only so much of the Godzilla story you can tell.”

Indeed.

I remarked to my wife that his was a surprisingly articulate and even witty reply. As they were just steps ahead of us, I could easily discern the Led Zeppelin tour shirt, circa 1977, he was wearing. (How pleasing to know Zep is timeless, like Godzilla.) Unruly long brown hair flowed over the boy’s shoulders. Along with his black concert tee shirt, he had on the obligatory pair of blue jeans and converse sneakers.

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I was so there…

That’s when it hit me. I was that kid once! I had that tee shirt. I had that hair. And most importantly I had those opinions. When I was a kid his age I too was first in line for the latest Godzilla movie. I can recall walking with a buddy up Clark Street in Chicago, dissecting the film we just saw. Maybe it was Destroy all Monsters. A classic. We analyzed the plot, giving thoughtful consideration to the many (I supposed) understandable holes in the story. Of course I knew Godzilla was fake, especially the campy Godzilla of my youth. I wasn’t delusional. Far from it. However, I still wanted the movie to be plausible. Or said another way, to not be ridiculous. I was interested in the film’s craft, the special effects, and the ways in which the monsters behaved. Their hierarchy. If there was a “Monster Island” I needed to know how it worked.

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What did the creatures eat for example, if not each other? To this day I can’t recall seeing a single Japanese movie monster (called Kaiju) actually eating another one, let alone a person. How could that be? What sustained them? In the current reboot they provide a somewhat plausible explanation. But back then? I could go on forever…

Revelation number two (which will come as no surprise to anyone reading this), I was a nerd. Like the boy in front of me, I’d been captivated by these monsters (however silly they were), and was determined to make sense of their universe. At 15, I certainly didn’t understand mine. What with gas rationing, The Ayatollah and the haunting specter of g-g-girls. I needed that dark theater more than it needed me.

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Me at 16, the earliest pic on my hard drive…

To a certain extent, I actually appreciated my glimpse at these two lads more than the movie itself, which, though it had its virtues, was frankly a let down. I was reminded of the strange circle of life and how true that old cliché really is: the more things change the more they stay the same. For one thing, I am still a nerd -even if my wardrobe choices are suh-weet!

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Never goes out of style…

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Nerd or maverick?

A while back, in the Admiral’s Club at Laguardia airport, a youngster caught my attention. He was a regular looking kid, a bit disheveled in his ill-fitting blue sweatshirt and no-name blue jeans. But something else marked him apart: he was wearing a striped cap with a propeller on top!

Wow.

I remember thinking to myself: he’s safe here but that goofy cap would be a death sentence in the schoolyard. At least, in the public schools I attended. I mean, what symbolizes dork more than a beanie with a propeller on top? It’s a nerd icon from when nerds were at their nerdiest. Spanky wore one on the ancient TV show, The Little Rascals.

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Spanky and his pals…

Anyway, the lad sat down in front of a house computer and began doing his thing. Again, like any other kid. But I still couldn’t get over his crazy chapeau. Remarkable, in this day and age, an adolescent boy wearing something so silly… in public! He might as well have had a “Kick Me!” sign affixed to his back. I decided to sneak a picture. I didn’t want to mock him as a person (I’m not a total ass) but I did want to document his most anti of fashion statements. I uploaded the anonymous photo on Facebook, adding my line about the schoolyard.

The comments came quickly. While some were snide (like mine) most were deeply supportive of the Beanie Boy. Here’s a perfect example from a Facebook friend, Brian Collins:

I think the kid is astounding. He is wearing it with some pride. And it looks like it’s motorized. Even better. If this makes the kid happy that’s perfect. And he looks deeply engaged on the web, too. Great.

What we don’t need are any more cookie cutter kids dressed in oversized nylon football jerseys, cocked baseball caps and ratty jeans with their lifeless eyes glued to ESPN.

Go, beanie boy, go!

Upon further consideration, Brian is right. My knee-jerk reaction was shortsighted, even ignorant. The Beanie Boy is not a dork. Frankly, he’s anything but. He’s a maverick and a rogue, a lad who’s not afraid to defy convention.

Last blog post, I compared the typical ad agency creative department to Romper Room. I wrote: “the older I get the more I realize how important it is to stay connected with my “inner child.” The best creative people do not grow out of it when they grow up. We remain inquisitive. Lovers of fun. You see it in our bicycles in the hallway. Our dubious wardrobes. Our playlists. Our silly snapshots on Facebook.”

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My inner child’s orange shoes and vintage 10-speed!

Indeed, defying convention is what makes us creative. I don’t want to lose that. Ever. And so, young admiral from the Admiral’s Club, I echo the words of my wise friend, Mr. Collins and the champions of creativity everywhere: “Go, beanie boy, Go!”

Author’s note: I discovered and wrote about the Beanie Boy over a year ago. For me, he never gets old.