Ewan Morrison: It was then that I realised that if you ain't black you can't call a black man 'man'

DAMMIT, Eminem is back, straight out of rehab with another irreverent rap album, exposing the ignorant media– obsessed culture that made him who he is and nearly killed him. Damn. I told myself I'd never listen to Eminem again. Not since what happened last time.

There must be some synaptic connection in the brain between images and sounds absorbed and one's own projection of identity. For example, after seeing The Incredible Hulk, my kids go around punching things. Something similar happened to me on the streets of Brooklyn, walking through thousands of black people with the sound of Eminem and Dr Dre in my ears – I started to mouth the lyrics, worse still, I started trying to walk like I was "street". For about a month, I became a wigger – a white man trying to be black – something that only Eminem can really pull off. I think the reason I'd taken to this fantasy with such zeal was that living in the USA had been a huge culture shock (having come from Glasgow where black faces are few and far between).

I was, however, sadly lacking in street gear. No Adidas or Nike sneakers, no big baggy pants hanging round my knees, no outsized basketball shirts or bling. In fact, I was at that time, every day, wearing an H&M suit to work in Manhattan. What I did have though was an NYC baseball cap, and as soon as I was away from the sceptical eyes of my then wife I liked to put it on backwards and ride the subway with all my black brothers, listening to Eminem on my Diskman. You can laugh, mostly they did not. There must be some acceptable place in black culture for very deluded thirtysomething white office workers who think they are rappers.

It got a bit daft though when I started trying to "throw shapes". For the un-initiated, this is striking poses with your hands outstretched when greeting your "bros".

"Yo bro," or "Hey, man," you say and you throw a shape; it's a bit like shaking hands, you can also mix it with a high-five or just stand back and nod at each other. (Please understand that these shapes are not objects and that no-one gets hurt.) I'd seen black guys doing this on the street and I'd wanted to try it out. My confrontation with reality came one day when I was alone in an elevator with a black DHL delivery guy. I had my baseball cap on backwards and I decided to defuse the awkward silence between us, by letting him know that I was not some uptight white guy. (It should also be noted that I had also been trying to speak with an American accent in my encounters with my brothers.)

"Hey man," I said and went to throw a shape. His eyes filled with incomprehension and I blushed.

"What yo call me?" he said.

"Ehh… ah… man?" I replied, realising then that if you ain't black you can't call a black man – "man". I took my baseball cap off, and started twittering apologies while he stared at the elevator lights going up and up. After five unbearably slow, self-conscious floors, in which I had pretty much apologised for being born, we were freed. Panic in my chest, I went to my desk, put my baseball cap inside and vowed never again to listen to Eminem.

But damn, bro, that new album looks like da bomb.