Fashion and me don’t get along. We don’t understand each other. It’s like the universe looked at me when i was a baby with my nappies hanging around my knees and granted us a lifetime divorce. Irreconcilable uselessness. So I have no idea why I keep on commenting on fashion when I have no aptitude or expertise on the subject. People who can’t do something well shouldn’t have an opinion right? But then what the hell would anyone ever talk about? We’re drawn to things we’re no good at, like me and fashion, and me and cooking shows and Madonna and acting.
I had to go shopping yesterday. I needed jeans. I only have one pair of jeans and those I bought four years ago. Two gaping knee holes and three crotch patch jobs later (don’t ask) I came to the conclusion they were now costing me more money to keep than it would be to simply buy new ones. Other than public speaking and giant reptiles, shopping is probably my biggest fear. Nothing ever fits, nothing ever looks good and no styles are ever “in” that I like. Why does everything have to have puffy sleeves, or diamontes on the bum and pleats in the front or be skin tight, cropped, jeggings, leggings, tapered, trimmed or friggin shimmering? Give me plain. Give me simple. Give me Amish for god’s sake. Well, actually no, I don’t like their stoopid hats.
So anyway, as if the mere burden of shopping wasn’t enough, the nightmare was made worse by, I swear, every single shop I went into (ok maybe not Boots) having a version of this…
Ahhhhh. WTF? Flannelette shirts are back in? Oh god why??? Why why why must they come back every few years? They’re indestructible. If there ever is an apocolypse, it won’t just be cockroaches roaming the earth, it’ll be cockroaches decked out in flannel.
I’ll tell you why this hurts my eyes. I first saw flannel when I was a kid in Australia, but it wasn’t fashionable, well not as clothing, not amongst the young and hip anyway. In fact way back when I was a kid, somewhere around the viking ages, the only things flannel in my life were my winter bed sheets, they were warm, they were practical but they certainly weren’t a fashion item. Although for some reason they looked surprisingly like this.
No no no no, flannelette as fashion, or flannies as we called them were the domain of another, altogether different species of human – the ocker, the real life form of the stereotyped Australian male, in short, something like this…
Oh. My eyes!! Yeah ok fine, I know it’s a different story these days, that flannel shirts can actually look good if done right (whatever that means), but if your eyes have recovered enough I’m sure you can now understand my first reaction when I see flannies in shops today.
As for the continual comebacks, I’m blaming John Hughes, because even though it was a few years after 1984 when I finally saw the Breakfast Club, I have a slight suspicion it’s all his fault. He made them cool, and now by some quirk of nature it seems the flanny revival somehow coincides with my half decade shopping trips. Damn you John Hughes. Damn you Judd Nelson too. And your nostrils.