The Honey Singh prototype

We are in a lift coming down from a Big Bazaar outlet in a mall to the parking in the basement and with us are three just-about adult boys. They look like they have dressed with one eye on Punjabi rapper Yo Yo Honey Singh look-shook book. An easily identifiable stash of accessories and clothes planted on a body type in search of a severe back ache.

Funny framed glares to be strictly worn indoors (lifts, pubs, discotheques), one or few long necklaces, bracelets on one hand that look like a jumble of strings that haven’t been disentangled since last Wednesday along with a gold kada, a big, bold watch on the other hand on which Honey usually wears his heart, printed T-shirts or clingy shirts with collars beaten up, or jackets with buttons playing kho-kho , hair gelled and spiked, then gelled again, sneaker-boots that would top the list of 10 Shoes Men Shouldn’t Touch, and of course, black jeans that has lost its way between tights, cigarette pants, trousers and chinos.

It’s a curious and detailed Look Shook Book, if you pay attention. Because Honey’s hair sometimes is living proof of what an ordinary razor can do when set with an onerous task of a freaky buzz cut. Then there are his earrings (optional) and finger rings—worn often on the index finger and, of course, caps of various moods. A tattoo or two too.

If you have at least three items from this style book—one long necklace, yellow hued sunglasses, a baddie watch, know how to make your fingers dance like puppets in a Punjabi village and move your body as if it were high on four bottles of Vodka without the fear of an aunty calling the police—you are a Yo Yo Honey Singh clone.

That this Punjabi rapper look—the original concept of which must be fully credited to Mr. Honey Singh—suits the personalities and dressing inclinations of a certain group of young Indian men or, shall we say, young North Indian men, narrowed further down to young, brash men from Jatland trying 24x7 to look cool, is more than a retail boon. It has given us the Yo Yo Honey Singh style type. A fashion lesson, rather. An achievement, that remained singularly unachieved by Mika Singh (who also insists on wearing funny glares), Brodha V. (heard about him?), Hard Kaur (female, but without a recall-worthy style file) or Baba Sehgal (check out his ear studs).

If male style and body in Indian popular culture has four or five umbrella types, Yo Yo Honey Singh has a distinct copyright to one—let’s admit, grudgingly even. The others belong to Salman Khan—the shirtless, hunky, good, bad boy of Bollywood; Ranbir Kapoor—the fruit and nut chocolate of new age celebrity; Ranvir Singh—the “come be my body” boy who drops moustaches to pick up hats and sashays from brocade to leather and gracefully sucks in his fab-abs; Nawazuddin Siddiqui—the dark and fat free alternative hero who thinks nothing of repeating a tux at Cannes, and our Cannot Be Dapper Rapper Honey Singh.

I am no fan of Yo Yo’s fashion and have constantly been discouraged by editors not to write on his “Oh please” lack of style. But this one is for the clones—that now uncannily come out of every nook and corner. At least in Delhi where I live and no day goes by without spotting one or few Honey Singh “types” in malls, markets, pubs, even inside lifts—a cage that has been unnecessarily assumed free of fashion victims.

Understatement is a fortnightly blog on popular culture seen through actions or words. Shefalee Vasudev is the author of Powder Room: The Untold Story of Indian Fashion.