Ridiculous in the City

If we needed a sign that the world was finally nearing its inevitable apocalyptic fate, it came this past weekend in the form of Ted Cruz wearing Ray-Bans at a Nevada rally. So absurd was this attempt at “cool guy” posturing that it sent shock waves through the hearts of dedicated Ray-Ban wearers across the globe.

The Ray-Ban, a symbol of hope and all that is right with the world that once adorned the faces of Audrey Hepburn, James Dean and John F. Kennedy, has long been an accessory that defined bona fide coolness. For almost eighty years, the brand that was born out of an attempt to protect Air Force pilots from the sun’s glare has been pioneering sunglass technology while introducing styles that would go on to become cultural icons.

The Aviator, the Wayfarer, and the Clubmaster (a.k.a., Ridiculous in the City’s early nineties obsession), are among a multitude of styles that have risen to the top of our cultural consciousness and given us the burning desire to wear our sunglasses at night. When we think of movies, we think of Ray-Bans, thanks to burned-into-our-brain films like Easy Rider, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, The Blues Brothers and Top Gun—a movie that was basically one giant pair of Aviators. When we think of rock and roll, we think of Ray-Bans, picturing Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Ramones and the thousands of musicians who have come after them, all craving a little bit of the cool that lies behind those shades.

Those shades. Maybe that’s why seeing Ted Cruz sporting Wayfarers is such a comical affront, because the cool that lies behind our Ray-Bans isn’t forced, and it isn’t manufactured; it’s fundamental and unquestionable, just like our beloved Ray-Bans have come to be. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a pair of $160 Ray Bans or the $10 knock-offs you bought on Astor Place (hey, we do what we have to). What matters is you put them on and you immediately looked like the cool customer you’ve always known you were.

As a cool customer, you know when you see someone who is most definitely not a cool customer. The lack of authenticity, the forced attempt at being the genuine article; it looks ridiculous, which is what Ted Cruz looked like up there on that stage wearing the Ray-Bans someone handed him to up his cool quotient.

Correction: it looks ridiculous and it smells of Lysol and polyester.

Cruz's onetime opponent Rand Paul learned just how seriously Ray-Ban takes its cool. After appearing on the campaign trail in a pair of modern Ray-Bans—and looking slightly better than Cruz doing so—Paul's website began selling "Rand" branded knock-offs saying they were, "at the intersection of politics and cool." I'm guessing they were pretty lonely in that intersection. Ray-Ban's parent company, Luxottica, swiftly shut Paul down insisting, "Ray-Ban is not at all a political brand. We’re focused on making sunglasses that people love."

In recent years, Ray-Ban has rolled out their “Never Hide" campaign. Now there’s a campaign slogan (Jay-Z/Ridiculous in the City 2020!). In the spirit of never hiding, we Ray-Ban lovers will face this apocalypse head on. If Ted Cruz becomes the next president, I’m putting on my Wayfarers and boarding a raft bound for parts unknown. I may not know what life will be like when I get there, but I know I’ll have my Ray-Bans to shield my eyes from the burning apocalypse I left behind.

That and a roll of toilet paper can get me across an ocean.