I had been invited to an “urban royalty”–themed costume party at a midtown Manhattan nightclub. Never one to spend money or time on costumes, I rifled through my closet and picked out the most comfortable outfit in my possession, a black polyester Adidas tracksuit. That satisfied the urban criterion. To add a touch of royalty, I accessorized myself with a big, faux blingy Mercedes pendant, lots of flashy rings, four-inch stilettos, and the pièce de résistance, a black shag wig with purplish highlights, which I picked up at a cosmetics and wig shop on Fulton Street in Brooklyn. Beneath the sassy flip of its too-stiff tendrils, I looked like a ghetto princess. Precisely.
