The year: 1995. I: a senior at Northwestern University.
Northwestern, after decades of futility in football, somehow found itself 10-1 and going to the Rose Bowl.
I did the only reasonable thing. I asked my girlfriend to shave my head, except for an “N” in the back. She did the only reasonable thing. She shaved an “N” into my head. Today, she’s my wife.
A couple days later, I was mistaken for a skinhead. As I walked by an older couple (who were likely younger than I am now), she leaned to him and stage-whispered, “This is this whole new subculture that I’ve been hearing about.”
Had it happened today, I’d have been aghast, but at the time I was amused. Silly out of touch people jumping to conclusions.
I coined the term “Subculture of One” in the aftermath as a winking nod to this not-quite-encounter. My girlfriend got me “Subculture of One” business cards. It was a good laugh and a great tagline.
I’ve come back to that phrase a lot in the decades since. I like the notion that each of us is a subculture of one. I’ve also thought a lot about the reaction that spawned it. How often are we misjudged based on misconceptions rooted in the superficial? And how fortunate am I, as a middle-aged white dude, to be largely immune to those misconceptions?
I chose the phrase for this site because it carries a lot of meaning. It reminds me of a time and a place that I loved. It recalls a silly vignette. It inspires a commitment to enrichment. But today, I think its primary purpose is to remind me to be thankful for my tailwinds and to be mindful of others' headwinds.
The tale also has an element of the absurd. I later tried - and failed - to dye the “N” purple. The circumstances of that failure make a good story of their own. One for another time.
