| 12-14-2006 T h u r s d a y , D e c e m b e r 1 4 , 2 0 0 6 For years, YEARS I have lamented the lack of pink, girly non-custom moto gear. I love pink. It’s my favorite color. I think it may have filtered its way in to my subconscious while being completely enamored with all things Fonzie as a kid. His lady... of course the lovely Pinky Tuscadero. If Pinky was good enough for the Fonz, she was good enough for me. Remember that episode where she was the first woman to drive in the demolition derby? Yea, Girl Power! Although, like many of those who fight for the right to ride “free”, she didn't want to wear a helmet and those damned Mallacchi Brothers ended up sending her the hospital. So, the gear manufacturer Icon has decided to stamp one of their ladies gear lines with the illustrious Tuscadero moniker. Of course on the outset, I'm like... "ooooh, Tuscadero! This has to be good!" Then much like a freshman girl slinking out of a frat house all slow and quiet, trying to go unnoticed; the cracks in this façade start to show. “Wait a minute,” I say “we’re talking about Icon here.” These are the folks that brought us the BLING gloves.  Okay if “bling” is in the title of an article of clothing, it probably sucks. Any sort of credibility that the suits in the marketing department tried to achieve by adopting slang that kids these days are using, is completely out the window. If my mom knows the word... it’s cool-factor is long since dead, buried and reincarnated into a tree a la “you go, girl.” “I don’t know. I’m a little scared to look,” I think to myself. I mean really, they have a full line of ladies gear, how bad could it be? Its gotta be worth a look. I’ve seen some pillions riding around town with their thongs hanging out between the gaps of their low-rise pants waistbands and the bottoms of their very cute and stylish pink Icon jackets. I liked each jacket that I saw from an aesthetic standpoint. They’re very cute indeed. I would love a pink get-up. Sadly given the yellow color of my bike, I might look like the aftermath of hot wings and too many $1.00 pitchers at the bar. Let’s start with gloves. Okay, cute! Not bad at all. I am pleasantly surprised. I’d wear those. Alrighty, this is fun! Pink gear and its not awful! I click around the net some more to find that they don’t have the jacket & pants in pink for this line so, I give their Kitty line a look. I have seen this jacket around. It may be a tad youthful for me, but it sure is cute. Sassy little stars, womanly cut to the body, armored. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Lulled into a false sense of security by these items I am visually assaulted by [drumroll please] Icon Kitty Chaps. WTF?
Is that..? What… what the.. Is that an embroidered, smoking 6 gun? I feel dizzy. I need a drink. Cold compress. Something. Somebody help me, I think I am going to faint. What kind of insane Pepto-Cowgirl is going to wear these abominations? As a concept, the full value of chaps, I must confess, eludes me. They’re so non-commital. I want to wear leather pants BUT I don’t want to have the meatiest part of my lower half covered. I want to create a little showcase for my hiney. A display case, if you will. I want my rump roast free to slip through the wind unprotected, much like Ms. Tuscadero’s noggin in that derby car of hers. Now, I like kitsch. And I like glamour. These have neither. They just seem like a hodgepodge of leftover scraps from their more well thought out pieces. I just cannot move past the glaring corniness of that stupid gun. Look at that thing! [cue harps for dream sequence] "Fred, I have these new chaps i've been working on but something is missing." "Well John, I didn't want to say anything, but they really look like they could use some flames. Maybe some stars."
"Fred! You. Are. A genius!" With his head down and a gentle swipe of his sleeve across his furrowed brow, John begins to frantically scribble at his drawing table. "I can't help but feel that they are still a bit, plain. Uninspired. Run of the mill pink, chaps. Oh, divine inspiration, why? Why do you mock me? Come speak your word into my ears. Feed me your sweet, sweet nectar." With his hand clenched in a fist, shaking it at the air, John pauses. Divine Inspiration has indeed patted him tenderly on the back. White.
Fringe.
Brilliant. As I was just typing this out, my 5 year old daughter sat down on my lap and said, “Wow. Mom, are you buying those? Those look cute, I like them.” Oh dear. | 
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