A chequered past that won’t stop haunting me

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.

I suspect this one’s a flannel impostor, looks like plain old cotton to me.

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.

6 thoughts on “A chequered past that won’t stop haunting me

  1. Oh how my pesky fingers hit the ‘post’ button without warning, no sooner had I typed 1 letter and they’re already going for it like some sort of demented kitten chasing after a wind up mouse.
    Quite simply, I love your writing style, fun and funny, yes there’s a difference! Can’t wait to flick through some of your other posts!

    • You like my style? Wow, thanks Megan, don’t think anyone’s ever said that before. Lucky for you this is not video blogging or that sentence might not exist. I hope some of my other posts entertain. A word of warning though- some are a bit looooooong. I’m still trying to learnt the art of less is more. You might need to clear your schedule 😉

  2. all I can say is damn bogans. Every time style gets too neat this comes on the back of it as a way of rebelion. Find another way, says I.

    • Heh!Damn rebellious youth. They could at least rebel in a way that’s easier on my eyes. How about a nice couple of rips in your jeans kids? But you know they’ve embraced Ugg boots over here as high fashion so there’s no hope really.

      • Ye gads, don’t get me started on Uggs….. You may imagine my consternation as these bogan abominations began appearing on otherwise normal (well, as normal as New York style try hards can be) in public when we were in NYC. Alas, my campaign of equating wearing these things outdoors with a less classy Jersey Shore resident had limited impact…

      • Oh don’t get ME started either. They’re high fashion in the UK, with a stupidly high price to go with them. People line up in the rain to get into their sale events. It’s a waste of a well informed Australian’s time to try to educate them to the fact they are indoor wear and if you value your reputation, to be worn in secret.

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