Photo Credit → Briana E. Heard
As I stroll past a Black 25-year-old cop issuing a parking ticket, his head swivels like a turntable. After confessing my secret, the glow behind his eyes jumps the plank: “Man, girls are always deceiving!” I apologize. “It’s cool. You should probably stop wearing it, though.” (The buxom Trinidadian grandmother back at Joyce Leslie concurred: “It’s okay baby ‘cause there’s still something there when you take that thing off.”) A quick informal poll of my buddy list reveals most men aren’t down with a palm-full of artificial ass. Noted. Still, after ditching my house of derriere, I concede that amidst all the ogles, hoots and wedgies, my augmented reality provided a bit of fleeting sexiness. Clearly, that’s the big win for the booty pad industry.
The final destination for my bubble and I: a hip-hop-heavy hookah spot on the Lower East Side a week later. Oddly enough, I get more looks than approaches from both races. Maybe one dude caught me readjusting? I mute my theory after an arriving girlfriend calls me out: “Yo, what did you do to your butt, son?!” She evaluates my backside, paws it, laughs and recommends some better ass in Harlem.