Comment: I keep thinking about this Trace Crutchfield character. I know enough Houston preppies to know that they exist, but Trace is so over-the-top-prep-school yacht-club-whitey, I can't help but think that this is a put on. Like, is that even his name? It's such a Holden Caufield sort of thing. And yet, though it may be satirical, he owns his whiteness so completely, that it comes off as genuine and even healthy. Easier to deal with than the typical white kid acting/dressing black.
“All you gotta do is act black. Act black and be yourself.”
1) Sure, I go back and forth whether Trace Crutchfield is indeed his name. But, shit, it fits him like a cheap prep-school suit, don't it? But, does it matter? You can see that Trace Crutchfield the character is so much Trace Crutchfield the person that I have no problem accepting him as Trace Crutchfield. God knows, we can be shaped by our names or we can shape names to shape us. Or, uh, whatever.
2) No shit, dude he "owns his whiteness." Yes. Trace Crutchfield does completely, 100%-ly, own whiteness (not just his, but all whiteness). And, the beauty is it's irrelevant to him. It's not cowardly or world domination whiteness. It's pure, no fear, hello world whiteness. It's a thing of beauty - act or not.
From Houston Chronicle:
"That Crutchfield knows nothing about Houston hip-hop is the key: Shield the man to protect him, because his ignorance is imperative; almost precious. Crutchfield is sort of a cross between Mr. Rogers and Steven Colbert, a straight-faced crooked arrow. No question is too inane, no answer is too stupid and the way in which he intently absorbs every single word dripping off of every single lip fully trumps his lack of knowledge about his voting public, often culminating in him giving a quick twitch of his head, a furrow of his brow and the line "that is amazing" in response to every story told to him."
I am also still unsure if it's an act or not, but what I am sure of.... It's a good goddamn act. The nuance is immense.
"My iPod was set on shuffle and I had lost track of the music during her assault. As I reached to show her, it hit me: the Pet Shop Boys were clearly swooning away in the background. Jesus Christ. Mortified, I held up my iPod for her inspection and looked away, feeling defeated. She simply turned and skipped down the ramp as my face reddened in electronic solitude."
- Trace Crutchfield, iPod Wars
