What goes into the making of a college professor? Doo-rags, apparently.

It’s what every teenage girl dreams of getting from her father on Christmas morning.

It was Christmas 2005, my little sister, Kelce, and I eagerly went through our stockings to come across a curious clear plastic package with what appeared to be some kind of black fabric inside. So, of course, I opened mine up, and was still dumbfounded as to what the hell it was. You’re probably asking, “Wasn’t the package labeled clearly?”… Good question. I don’t remember, but I’m not sure “Doo-Rag” would’ve been much help to me at the time. There was a photo of a muscular black dude on it, but I didn’t give it much thought other than “this must be something cool”.

Kelce opened hers up too, and we were immediately hooked on our new doo-rags (once we figured out what they were, of course). So, the next hour was spent wearing our new doo-rags and taking thug photos. Nothing says “thug” like a couple of young middle-class white girls living in Kansas taking pictures with doo-rags on a crisp Christmas morning, am I right?! That’s when my parents must have realized I would grow up to become a college professor.

I’ve come across some photo evidence of the event. Including Kelce posing on her first car (which I dubbed “the pimpmobile”) with one sweat pant leg scrunched up for maximum thugness.

Now, I’m realizing I must have actually been in my twenties when this took place. Nevertheless, that’s the type of parenting that made me the hot mess that I am. My father, whilst out looking for presents for his two nerdy daughters, came across the doo-rag section of whatever store he was in, and must have thought to himself “Aha! That’s what I’ll get the girls!”…

Something like that MUST have happened.

I wonder what happened to those doo-rags.