So Skullcandy is pretty much the antithesis of my inner 80-year-old. I shuffle through the mall clutching my purse and scowling at clusters of giddy teenagers. I shake my fist at cars that drive by with bass cranked to a teeth-rattling level. And sometimes I need help operating my electronics. But I love my Skullcandy headphones. It’s a bit of a paradox.
I have a pair of Skullcandy in-ear headphones similar to these, but mine are in a pretty shade of minty, seafoamy green. My favorite bluegrass band, Old Crow Medicine Show, sounds exceptionally honky through the headphones (that’s a good thing). And the volume control on the line makes it much faster to adjust sound levels on the fly. (See, I’m hip. I’m with it. I speak the kids’ language.)
But what I loved the most was the super-comfy in-ear pads. My headphones came with three sets, and the smallest was perfect for my ears. I’m using past tense because last time I was at the mall (shudder), I had hastily wrapped the cord around my iPod and tucked it in my purse. Apparently, all my purse-clutching was in vain this trip, because one of the cushy ear pads disappeared. I’m convinced it was that floppy-haired boy wearing skinny jeans, unlaced skateboarding shoes, and a hoodie. He was loitering suspiciously near the Spencer’s store. Of course, he might have been an employee…
Anyway, I replaced the missing pad with one from another pair of in-ear headphones that shall remain nameless. It is decidedly not a good fit, but it has made me realize why I love the originals. They’re softer, more flexible rubber, so they shape just a bit to my ear canal. They form a tighter seal, so they feel more secure and do a better job of shutting out ambient sounds. And I can leave them in for longer than five minutes without pain.
I’m going to have to replace the bad pad with a real Skullcandy pad so I don’t get cranky about the poor fit. Then I might consider getting a pair of over-the-ear headphones so I can look like a DJ. I hear that’s all the rage these days.