I’m raising a tiny Iggy Pop (but without the trousers)

You probably know who Iggy Pop is.

He’s the lust-for-life guy with the lank hair, muscular (and always bare) torso, and winding rubber-limbed dance moves.

I’ve always imagined that the way Iggy Pop dances is the way Mick Jagger thinks he dances; free, and fun, and just the right (as opposed to the wrong) side of ridiculous.

Kind of like my four-year-old son.

His hair is long(ish), home trimmed, and rock-star wild. His dance moves are free like Iggy, and he favours an unclad torso in all but the coldest weather. His snake hipping across the dance floor is always natural and rubbery.

He’s a do-er, rather than a thinker, and is definitely cooler than Mick Jagger.

And all of this is fine, but there is a line to be drawn.

Back in the 1990’s I recall seeing Iggy Pop on TV performing whilst wearing what, in our house, have come to be known as “Iggy Pop trousers”. For the simple reason that I can’t imagine anyone, other than Iggy, wearing them.

Certainly not my four-year-old.

I can’t remember what the trousers were made of – PVC, perhaps, or leather – because their material was very much overshadowed by their main feature.

A clear, plastic, square window, across the groin area.

And Iggy was going commando; his bits squashed up against the front, like the face of a bored teenager against a car window.

Nowadays, Iggy crops up on TV and in public and the intelligent, articulate man you see is slightly incongruous when remembered against the wild man who hung out with Bowie and Lou Reed, his lust-for-life on display for all to see.

Even with the modern iteration of Iggy all I see is his meat and two veg squished up against the inside of his trousers.

It’s an unfortunate image.

I have no qualms about raising a tiny version of Iggy Pop; but I won’t be buying him a pair of “Iggy Pop trousers” any time soon.

(Image: via biphop @ Flickr CC)



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