Today I pondered the origin of the modern catcall "Owoooo!" When did that replace the classic wolf whistle, I wonder?
The "Owoooo!" has a definite late '70s vibe to it. I can imagine it first issuing forth from the lips of a 19-year-old Midwestern dude with a blonde mullet, while he leaned out of a pick-up truck window with Foghat's "Slow Ride" playing on the radio. The girl who inspired it would have been wearing Farrah Fawcett feathered tresses, shiny Dolphin short-shorts and high-heeled Candies slides. Owooooo, indeed.
One night a few years ago, my friend P-girl and I were in an especially irreverant mood and found ourselves driving around West Hollywood at night, windows rolled down, howling our own robust "Owoooo's!" at whoever we passed. And I do mean whoever--gay dudes, married couples--each and every one of them we passed earned a aural stamp of attractiveness. I don't know how the recipients of our howls felt about the whole thing, but P-girl and I were in stitches in my Civic. It was unadulterated, immature pleasure the likes of which only 8th graders usually enjoy.
The reason "Owoooo!" is on my mind is that this week, while I was walking across a parking lot, I got an "Owoooo!" from someone rolling by in a dark, mid-sized sedan. I burst out laughing in sheer enjoyment of the randomness and silliness of the tradition. My day was made. Viva Owooooo! Long may you wave.