We Went to a Weird Pool Party with Soulja Boy and Migos

Photos by Goodwin

In the world of Soulja Boy, there are two distinct groups of people: Haters, and Soulja Boy. The world is his oyster, and the only way to open that sucker up and get at the pearl is by stunting harder and harder until your existence is basically a black hole meant to wreak psychological terror upon your enemies. Unfortunately, when I attended a pool party that Soulja Boy hosted at SXSW, the haters were me.

I truly believe that Soulja Boy is secretly the greatest innovator of our generation, a veritable hip-hop animorph who’s had his icy fingers in more pies than hours than you spent perfecting the Soulja Boy dance. In addition to “Crank Dat,” he’s been an early adopter of sexting, indie games, the word “swag,” comparing yourself to oceanic creatures in rap songs, and has used his ubiquity to give a leg up to acts like Migos, Lil B, Chief Keef, and Riff Raff. Oh, and if you’re looking for origins of the quickly rising Chicago Bop, well, Soulja’s “Zan with that Lean” may very well be the sound’s blueprint (he also jumped on Keef’s proto-bop track “She Say She Love Me”). He carries himself as a child of the world, perpetually in awe of new cool shit and wishing to spread joy and swag to the universe. Just when you think you’ve got King Soulja figured out, he completely switches the game up, whether it’s by releasing a documentary about himself narrated through YouTube captions or by releasing “We Made It,” which Drake jumped on and helped immortalize his now-catchphrase, “Damn… Soulja Boy stunt on them haters!”

So, in short, I love Soulja Boy, and I would kill for a chance to see him in the flesh, even if it were just to see him standing around at a pool party shooting a paintball gun at a plastic canvas for like 20 minutes. So when I received word that Soulja Boy and Migos were going to be hosting a pool party at some random house in the suburban sprawl of Austin and doing exactly that, I freaked the fuck out and immediately RSVP’d, despite knowing that it was probably going to be a shitshow, would take up an entire afternoon in Austin, and that no matter what might have been billed there was no way in shitting Christ that Soulja Boy wasn’t going to stunt on the haters by not actually performing.

Upon arrival at said suburban residence, some thirty minutes outside of Austin proper, my first thought was, “Whose parents are out of town?” The vibe of the place was that of any movie where some kid who desperately wants to be cool throws the baddest ass party he could think of to make that one girl like him. There was a hot tub in the backyard bubbling and a table with lots of fancy streetwear (including leather baseball jerseys that said LOVE on them), but it turned out these were strictuly for show—I dipped a finger into the hot tub bubbly crust only to discover it was room temperature, and when I tried to take one of the leather shirts a testy brand rep told me he’d “hook me up later,” which was code for “fuck off, this leather shirt is for Soulja Boy.” Damn. Pool party stunt on them haters.

PeeWee Longway

While the streetwear might have been meant for people with rap careers and not the random bloggers who bullshitted their way into the party, there were drinks that we were encouraged to guzzle, especially because there was no Soulja Boy, or even a solitary Migo, to be found. There were some dudes making “live art” in the backyard by shooting paintballs at a tarp hung over a storage shed. For some reason, “live art” is becoming a big thing in the nexus of the streetwear/rap/dance community that’s rapidly converging, despite the fact that the dance kids suck up to the rap kids, the rap kids don’t care about the dance kids, and everybody hates the art kids with a passion rap and dance kids usually reserve for guitars and shit.

Perhaps two hours after we’d arrived, Soulja Boy and Migos showed up. I cannot explain how magnetic Soulja Boy is in person. Maybe it’s that due the jewelry hanging off of his lithe frame, he is 90% shinier than all other humans. Maybe it’s that he made “Crank Dat.” Maybe it’s just that he truly exudes an aura of being really fucking cool at all times because he’s been rich and famous since he’s had his drivers license. Whatever it is, it was like the air was sucked out of the place when he hit the function, heads turning to watch him stand around, have a drink, and shoot a couple paintballs at the “live art.” He’s a truly compelling dude to watch.

After mobbing around for about twenty minutes, Migos and Soulja disappeared into the house, before disappearing completely, back into the hyperbaric chamber of swag in which they exist. Normally, I would be pissed because I schlepped it out to the suburbs just to watch some dudes stand around, but this is Soulja Boy and Migos we’re talking about. There are those who do, and there are those who do what they can about it. There are haters, and there are those who stunt on them. You can’t blame the world for its inherent structure, and you can’t blame anyone other than yourself if you put yourself in a position to get stunted on.

Of course, stunting is a habit, and when god closes a door, he opens a window. A window for stunting. Which is a roundabout way of saying I stole a pair of $120 sweatpants from the party meant for Soulja Boy. A hollow stunting, sure, but a stunt nonetheless. But sometimes, that’s good enough.

Drew Millard is currently wearing the sweatpants he stole from the pool party. He's on Twitter - @drewmillard

Find more of Drew's SXSW coverage here, here, and here.