Bubba Chic is the latest phenomenon sweeping the country. It is part of Bubbadom, along with Bubba Redneck and Bubba Cowboy. The category into which the Bubba falls is delineated by where the Bubba resides and whether the Bubba is a Genuine Bubba or a Weekend Bubba.
Redneck Bubbas, who are Genuine, have been around since time began. They’re the scruffy guys who wear baggy jeans that choke the bottom of a protruding belly. The jeans slide dangerously low; the Bubba pulls them up. You’ve seen the routine a thousand times. Their sleeveless undershirts expose pornographic tattoos. They plop baseball caps backwards on top of their long hair.
Redneck Bubbas can be found in New England, all Southern states, Texas and anywhere women are willing to put up with such foolishness from their men.
Bubba Chic is at the high end of the socio-economic ladder. Otherwise sane men wear $500 cowboy boots, $100 belt buckles that double as lethal weapons and huge floppy hats — Hoss Cartwright style — that dwarf the Chic Bubbas and make them look like Dopey.
Those floppy hats are sacred to the Bubbas. They wear them on the dance floor, at the dinner table and in bed. Honest. And the hats have been seen following the Bubbas into the showers.
Chic Bubbas, who are not Genuine, are anyone insecure enough to spend huge sums of money on the sartorial splendor required to distinguish them from Rednecks. They reside in Boston, New York, Los Angeles, Atlanta and occasionally in Chicago.
Cowboys are Genuine. They are part Redneck and part Chic Bubba. They can be stockbrokers or cow punchers. They are at home in Tucson, Dallas and Cheyenne. Cowboys are more tolerable than either Rednecks, who behave as they do just to annoy women, or Chic Bubbas who are really little boys playing Weekend Cowboys.
Redneck Bubbas drive pick-ups with gigantic wheels that elevate them three stories above the road. Ever watch a Redneck pick up his woman? He sits there, looking out the window, while the Bubbaette hikes up her skirt and pulls herself into the cab.
Chic Bubbas drive a Lexus or a BMW. So easy for the Bubbaettes to slide into.
Cowboys are more at home on horses than in vehicles with wheels.
All that need be said about the Bubbaettes is that as a subculture they singlehandedly support the blue eye shadow industry.
Bubbadom food is, well, greasy. Called “barbecue,” it’s pork, beef, occasionally chicken. If it’s not ribs, it’s “pulled.” In Daytona Beach, barbecue is an alternative lifestyle.
Chic Bubbas listen to Garth Brooks, Billy Ray Cyrus, Travis Tritt. Redneck Bubbas prefer Tammy Wynette who espouses their philosophical views on the place of Bubbaettes in the Bubba Kingdom. Cowboys prefer music in its truest form, strumming the guitar and twanging sweet nothings to their horses.
Even the White House has embraced this uniquely American socio-economic structure. Bush was a member of the elite Chic Bubba class, except for the pork rinds. The current First Bubba, with tummy hanging over his jeans and baseball cap jammed backwards on his head, has Redneck proclivities. But Hillary Rodham Clinton is heading up a Task Force to assist them in social climbing their way into Bubba Chic. It’s taking longer than 100 days.
Europe is riveted by Bubba Chic and rumor has it that the European community is planning to import it by early 1994. With its New England, Southern, Western and California flavors, Bubba Chic is a truly American phenomenon.
Bubba Chic has finally wrangled its way into Brahmin Boston. Conservative by nature (it’s a reaction to the volatile weather), Bostonians have been waiting to make sure it was a real fad, not a fly-by-night fad. Secure in our knowledge that we are joining a genuine fad, Boston is galloping hard to catch up. Two country western radio stations compete for the emerging Bubbadom population, and barbecue restaurants are springing up faster than pigs can multiply.
Dopey hats have been spotted heading into Beacon Hill townhouses, in the board rooms of banks and law firms, at trustees meetings of the Museum of Fine Arts and Symphony. And while cowboy boots are welcome at The Ritz, the Bubbas are discreetly instructed to stable their hats in the coat room.
Like all fads, Bubba Chic is dollars-driven. Which means it’ll be around for as long as those with savvy can part the fool from his money.
Do I plan to ride the cobblestoned lanes of Boston as a Bubbaette? If so, I’ll go kicking and screaming. I look lousy in blue eye shadow.
Sharon J. Kobritz, a former resident of Bangor, is a Boston writer.
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