On Monday night outside London's O2 Arena, hip-hop icon Pitbull enjoyed a bowl of Japanese curry chicken. Nearby, a Pitbull impersonator fiddled with an iPhone charger, while another checked his watch. A line of Pitbull lookalikes ascended an escalator, some holding hands, others sharing a bottle of rosé.
The real Pitbull — Armando Christian Pérez from Miami, who rose to fame in the early 2010s with his vibrant dance rap hits — was backstage preparing for his first of two shows in the 20,000-capacity venue. Waves of young fans had adopted the tradition of dressing like the artist on each stop of his “Party After Dark” tour, focusing especially on his most recognizable feature: his famously hairless scalp.
“I'm pretty sure all the bald caps in London's party stores are sold out by now,” said 19-year-old Jay McGillan.
McGillan had scoured seven shops without success and resorted to drawing a detailed portrait of Pitbull’s shiny crown directly onto the fabric of his white button-down shirt. He joined a crowd rushing into the arena, including one fan wearing a shirt emblazoned with the phrase, “Good girls go to church… Bad girls go with Pitbull.”
Concert uniform trends have surged recently, with fans coordinating on social media to wear sequins at Taylor Swift shows or cowboy boots at Beyoncé concerts. (Jimmy Buffett’s “parrotheads” were an early example of this phenomenon.)
Yet, the Pitbull bald cap craze is unusual for its eccentricity, lack of conventional sex appeal, and uniformity. Walking among the Pitbull impersonators was like attending a Halloween event where the only costume option was Pitbull himself.
Outside the venue, fans helped each other perfect their costumes with the enthusiasm of a wild group project. Twenty-five-year-old Shannon Hilton used liquid eyeliner to draw a goatee on her friend Georgia Burdett. Both had been fans of Pitbull’s party anthems — “Fireball,” “Give Me Everything” — since their teenage years and were eager for a nostalgic night.
Burdett, also 25, had transformed the black blazer and pants she wore to work that day into a Pitbull-inspired outfit. She checked her newly drawn facial hair in the reflection of a friend’s phone screen. “I’m really happy with it,” she said.
Most impersonators said they got the idea from TikTok or Instagram, where videos of fans sporting bald caps have circulated for a couple of years. Yet, why nearly half the audience committed so fully to this joke on this particular night — turning the arena into a sea of nude-colored latex — remained a curiosity.
Hilton described it as a “herd mentality,” while another fan called it “a big inside joke.”
“As adults, we rarely get the chance to be silly and dress up as something ridiculous,” said 26-year-old Uvie Emagbetere, who had cut a pair of tights to create his bald cap.
His friend Sofia Sa, 27, layered three wig nets to achieve an ultra-smooth effect. “We have adult money, and this is what our generation chooses to spend it on,” she remarked.
Pitbull himself, 44, never anticipated the bald cap movement would gain such momentum. He first noticed the trend when concert venues began reopening after the COVID-19 shutdowns. The craze escalated during his European tour last year.
“I thought, ‘Man, I better start calling them the baldies,’” he said. “My grandmother always told me in Spanish to fly high, like an eagle.”
The artist expressed his appreciation for fans who chose to emulate him: “When we're out there having fun, we rise and fly high together.”
He emphasized that the bald cap craze was not a marketing ploy from his team. “We never tried to orchestrate this!” he said. However, this year he’s embraced it, sharing videos of fans in costume on social media and referencing the “baldies” during performances and interviews. He now offers a “Mr. 305” kit that includes a bald cap and bow tie for $19.99.
The tour features hits from the 2010s, alongside his twelfth studio album released in 2023, Trackhouse. Pitbull expressed pride in attracting fans of all ages. “My demographic goes from diaper to diaper,” he joked.
The artist took the stage shortly after 9:30 p.m., wearing a fitted leather jacket and bouncing to “Hey Baby.” He pounded his chest, stuck out his tongue, and led the crowd in a call-and-response: “Who’s here to party?” “We’re here to party!”
Among the bald cap crowd were students, accountants, construction workers, and ten members of a fitness group who used to work out while listening to Pitbull. Fans tossed beach balls resembling globes toward the stage, a nod to one of the artist’s nicknames, Mr. Worldwide.
Forty-seven-year-old Ross Ladbrook teased his friends complaining about their uncomfortable caps. He had been bald for years before Pitbull’s London arrival and finally felt his look was in style. “I feel right at home,” he said.
Thirty-nine-year-old Heidi Lees, dressed in jeans and a green t-shirt with her hair tied back, admitted she was “too old” to pull off the bald look. “I didn’t know this even existed,” she said, amused by the overwhelming parade of Pitbull impersonators. “Watching people just be themselves is entertaining.”
After the concert, the Pitbull impersonators boarded the North Greenwich Tube station, removing their adhesive goatees and shaking out sweaty hair. One fan vomited into a garbage bag.
The spell was broken. But after seeing so many Pitbulls, it can be hard to see anything else. Near the venue, the reporter approached a woman carrying a wrinkled-faced dog, wondering if the pet was an intentionally literal accessory.
She seemed unaware a concert was happening. “It’s an English bulldog,” she said curtly.
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