Everybody who has met me knows that I've never really understood the concept of "fashion". Generally speaking, I tend to view clothes as strips of material used only to keep me warm and stop me freaking out the townsfolk. Ian Malcolm summed up this opinion in Jurassic Park, the less time one spends deciding what form of coloured cloth is going to hide your shame on any given day, the more time you can think about stuff that actually matters.
So, yeah, not really up on the concept of what should be worn how and when and why. I'm also aware (so, so aware) that I continue to hurtle towards middle-aged like a creaky-limb freight train (yes, I know trains don't have limbs; I'm not really a squid either, so shut up). Even if I ever had possessed the arcane knowledge required to tell the difference between a morning suit and a lounge suit (still don't know, still refuse to find out), it would be fading as the damn kids get together and conspire to change it all around again. On the way back from Jersey I saw a pair of tweenagers who were wearing leg-warmers. Obviously this was bad enough, but they'd swapped one sock with each other so that each of them had one sock that was lime green (the shade of green that dare not speak its name) and one that was radioactive pink. You could have used those kids to guide down planes.
Even given all of that, even accepting that I'm paddling away from Fashion Island which I never really mapped out in the first place, there are some items of clothing that must just be considered unarguably awful. Last night A texted me to tell me about a T-shirt she'd just seen a girl wearing in a nightclub (a Middlesbrough nightclub, admittedly, which puts it somewhere between a cattle market and a convention for child prostitutes), which was plain except for the word "CLITORIS" emblazoned proudly across the chest.
What... the... Hell? I'm open to suggestions on this one. Was it reminder for inattentive lovers? An attempt by a lesbian to make her sexual preferences inescapably obvious? Or are we facing a resurgence of interest in Red Dwarf and the Committee for the Liberation and Integration of Terrifying Organisms and their Reintegration Into Society?
I'm wondering what people think. Have I missed something? Should I commission a T-Shirt which says "GONADS" in four-inch golden letters? Or should I just give up on this planet entirely, and relocate to the asteroid belt to live out the rest of my life as one of those rock hermits I used to shoot at in Elite?
4 comments:
This T-shirt wearer is deliberately misleading the men of Middlesborough as to the location and nature of the clitoris. She is committing a serious disservice to her sex and should be stopped.
In fairness, given the myriad mutations observable in the Middlesbrough population (pollution smogs and in-breeding making poor bedfellows), it's not impossible that her chest was where her clitoris could be found.
"Should I commission a T-Shirt which says "GONADS" in four-inch golden letters?"
If you're putting it to popular opinion I would vote yes.
Duly noted.
Anyone have the desire to see the word "GONADS" spread across my torso?
Don't be shy now!
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