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big doe rehab • brooklyn bodega • ghostface • ghostface killah • ghostwriter • hip hop • hiphopdx • sneaker head • spaulding

• » BrooklynBodega

The Big Doe Takeover

The Big Doe Rehab pt.1

As we all have heard, Ghostface Killah has checked into Big Doe Rehab. Coincidentally, HipHopDX homies, Brooklyn Bodega and their Sneaker editor, Spaulding H. Forsythe has found himself in the same facility trying to curb his own over-spending, the result of a sneaker obsession. Watch how these two juggernauts--one of the rap game, the other of the shoe game--deal with the highs and lows of Big Doe rehabilitation, all told through Spaulding's moving rehab journal entries. Let the healing begin. Powered by Brooklyn Bodega.


*illustrations by Jimmy Blags.

DAY ONE: I wanted to do this on the sneak. I wanted to disappear for a while, hit the gym, read books, then return on some uber-Spauldy-type sh*t. But I have no patience. And I hate waiting.

But that’s what Big Doe Rehab is all about, according to my therapist, Dr. Ulysses Hardgrasp. What dude needs to grasp is that his Rockports are hurting. His game needs to take a step. Preferably up. Real talk: sh*ts disgusting.

The only thing that made up for duke’s bland footwear of choice was a rumor. This morning I heard that Ghostface Killah, Pretty Toney Starks, might check himself into Big Doe Rehab. It makes sense; dude’s medallions once doubled as dinner plates. As much of a fan of his I am, all I could think about was his wallys. Last time I saw him he was wearing a gun-metal-gray pair that looked like Teflon, damn near bulletproof. Which would make sense, matching his wallets and whatnot. But, alas, the whole morning was Ghost-less.

I’m here because they say I have a “severe inclination toward materialism using footwear as a vehicle,” a side effect of Big Doe Dependency—the constant need to get and spend stupidly huge amounts of money. Whatever. They got to sell that slushy to another Eskimo. You don’t go to rehab because of a tireless pursuit to know about and own as many limited edition, quickstrike, and/or over-seas-only kicks as possible. I’m really here because my family and friends bugged out once they realized I was renting five storage units for sneakers (one in each borough) that all dwarfed my own apartment. True hundred.

To calm myself down in the afternoon, I pulled out an extra toothbrush and began cleaning the midsole of my rehab slip-ons. They’re clean, I’ve only had them for three days now, but the routine soothes me. Brush on midsole. Clean it up.

That’s when he walked out of my wallabee dreams and into my life. The man from the place where fish was made, dude who holds the mic like Gale Sayers, the Don Mattingly, Don Baylor, Don King, the Don of everything. Toney Starks, Ironman himself, was standing in the doorway, wearing familiar mint rehab garb, a yankee fitted pon his crown. He came into the room with only a few words, pointing at my rehab slip-ons: “You got the cookies and cream right there?"


*Ghostface Killah is my rehab roommate and he already wants my shoes!

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