Word: emporium
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Keith Alexander, who works out of a New York City shop that bills itself as "the world's largest fetish emporium," estimates he's seared more than 150 skin signs over the past five years. "People need memorable symbols when they pass from one stage of life to another," he says. "Some get a brand at the end of a divorce, others on their birthday." Many of his clients are punk rockers and S&M aficionados. About half, he says, are fraternity members, including African-American frats that have used branding for years, sometimes choosing slave designs to connect with...
From the parking lot of Good Time Emporium, the late-night crowd began to filter through the double-doors; the melange of characters included packs of greasy-haired junior school punks, permed teenage girls donning skin-tight Wrangler jeans and an occasional preschooler in an XXS patent leather jacket. The cab driver refused to use the word "emporium," insisting that my friends and I were mistakenly visiting his old billiards hang-out, "Good Time Callie's." The towering marquees, however, confirmed that we were entering the famed den of Somerville carousal and inflated Michelob paraphernalia. Before gaining admittance...
...pint-sized "Himalayan" roller coaster, I suddenly regretted wearing my pea-coat and wool slacks, an appropriate ensemble for my earlier Lit and Arts section, but out of place among the Harley Davidson insignia. My ears absorbed a multitude of noises and frequencies as I scanned the warehouse-sized Emporium: the smack of a baseball in the adjacent batting cage, electronic screams from a blood-and-guts video game, and the monotonous voice of a televised sports commentator. The hubub was mesmerizing and dizzying...
From the parking lot of Good Time Emporium, the late-night crowd began to filter through the double-doors; the melange of characters included packs of greasy-haired junior school punks, permed teenage girls donning skin-tight Wrangler jeans and an occasional preschooler in an XXS patent leather jacket. The cab driver refused to use the word "emporium," insisting that my friends and I were mistakenly visiting his old billiards hang-out, "Good Time Callie's." The towering marquees, however, confirmed that we were entering the famed den of Somerville carousal and inflated Michelob paraphernalia. Before gaining admittance...
...pint-sized "Himalayan" roller coaster, I suddenly regretted wearing my pea-coat and wool slacks, an appropriate ensemble for my earlier Lit and Arts section, but out of place among the Harley Davidson insignia. My ears absorbed a multitude of noises and frequencies as I scanned the warehouse-sized Emporium: the smack of a baseball in the adjacent batting cage, electronic screams from a blood-and-guts video game, and the monotonous voice of a televised sports commentator. The hubub was mesmerizing and dizzying...