I was a girl with a bald cap and a dream.
Ahead of the "I'm Back" tour at Riverbend Music Center in Cincinnati, Ohio, on Sept. 15, I wanted to transform myself into the Grammy-winning rapper Pitbull.
I wanted to unwind from stress and lean into the Miami native's bold, party-centric personality. To feel power in his smooth businessman style. To quip one of his signature motivational phrases. To be silly.
I wanted to be Mr. Worldwide. If only for a night.
And believe it or not, I wasn't the only one.
It took about an hour for my Pitbull-ification. I put on a white button-down I typically save for the newsroom, aviator sunglasses, a black tie and, of course, a bald cap. I drew a black goatee on my face with my eyeliner pencil.
When I was done, I said
a quick "Dale!" and tucked the eyeliner into my purse for emergency touch-ups.
It was showtime.
But as I walked toward the gates at the riverside venue, something terrible happened.
I felt self-conscious. I couldn't believe it. I had wanted to go all-out for this concert. After all, I love a bit. And being self-conscious felt so un-Pitbull of me. Mr. 305 would never.
But here's the thing. I was shocked by how few bald caps I saw.
For the past few years, I've watched videos of 20- or 30-something women decked out in the Pitbull uniform, complete with bald caps, jumping around to Pitbull's club music on my TikTok feed. Right before I left for the concert, I read an article about how the trend is so pervasive that people started losing their friends at concerts because everyone looks the same.
That wasn't the case in Cincinnati. There were some other Bald-Es (the term Pitbull uses to affectionately refer to those who dress up as him at concerts), sure, but there were also plenty of people dressed in what you might see at a Miami club.
Suddenly, I felt like I reverted to grade school, arriving at a school event wearing the wrong thing.
And then I made eye contact with a fellow Bald-E.
She smiled at me. I saw another group dressed up as Fireball whiskey bottles, a nod to Pitbull's "Fireball." I began to remember why I wanted to do this in the first place.
- "Live life, don't let life live you." - Pitbull
As I walked around the venue, I noticed more bald caps. There still weren't nearly as many as I expected, but there was more variety than I anticipated. There were men in bald caps, many in their 20s or 30s, dressed up with their girlfriends or wives. There were women closer to their 50s and 60s. There were a few dads.
I smiled at the idea of my dad accompanying me to the concert in a bald cap.
By the time I got to my seat, I was back in my element. I had a drink in my hand and Lil Jon in my line of sight. (He opened up for Pitbull and gave us nostalgia overload.)
He performed songs that played at my 8th-grade graduation dance ("Yeah!") and junior high mixers ("Crank That (Soulja Boy)") as images of iPods, MySpace and 2000s computer graphics flashed on the screen behind him.
I was back in grade school again, but this time in a good way.
Then, perhaps my favorite part of the night: He gave a shoutout to "everybody with the good knees" after the crowd dropped to the ground during "Low."
I started interacting with the concertgoers around me. Two parents stood in front of me in bald caps. Pretty soon, their two 20-something daughters and one of the daughters' boyfriends joined them. All in bald caps.
This family made me feel like one of their own. We danced together, sang together, partied together. The dad gave me fist bumps. The mom gave me a drink. I clicked with them, and they clicked with me.
Maybe it was the press pass (unlikely). Maybe it was the fact that I was by myself (sure). But if you ask me, it was the bald cap.
When you saw the bald cap, you knew this person didn't take themselves too seriously. You knew they were here to have some fun. You knew you immediately had something in common.
"I like to see other people when we were walking around and be like, 'aaaye'," one of the daughters, 26-year-old Gabrielle Vanhouwe of Columbus, told me after the show.
Pitbull ended the concert by thanking all the Bald-Es.
"Know when you put on the bald cap," he shouted, "you're going to have the TIME. OF. YOUR. LIIIIIIFE."
I couldn't agree more. Let's ride.
This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: I wore a bald cap to a Pitbull concert. Here's what happened
