Fashion. Women are meant to spaz out with delight at the mere mention of it. In fact, if you say the words ‘chocolate’ and ‘fashion’ at the same time, we start weeping and weeing like defective Tiny Tears dolls and gibbering quotes from Sex And The City until the factory settings are restored on our vaginas.
Although we do quite like chocolate, there are plenty of stylish women out there who aren’t susceptible to the stupid world of fashion. Personally, I hate fashion. It’s expensive, it’s pointless, and it assumes you’ll get excited about a boring poo brown satchel named after someone who used to present Popworld. Fashion happily employs people like Henry Holland, a be-quiffed twerp who couldn’t design a decent t-shirt if his life depended on it. It’s a constantly mutating, greedy beast which stuffs itself full of idiots, charlatans, anorexics, hangers-on and bad musicians then purges itself all over the high street, leaving ordinary women looking like plonkers. Here is the case for the prosecution.
Misappropriation of the word ‘vintage’
‘Vintage’ once conjured up glorious images of gleaming Rolls Royces and dusty wine cellars. Now it conjures up a blurry photo of a dog-eared Topshop fascinator with the caption ‘L@@K! DitaVonTEESE/Paloma Faith! Buy Now!’ Anything that existed before last Wednesday can be vintage. Vintage wine gums, vintage copies of The Sun, vintage yoghurt pots…I have a vintage poppy seed stuck in my teeth. Should l don a pillbox hat and red lipstick and sell it to you for £35?
Like Phil Mitchell when he’s on the crack sandwiches, fashion moves to its own bizarre rhythms. This means that anyone who is in the right place at the right time can be a fashion icon – meaning anyone who is dispensing free coke, anyone who is related to Sting, or anyone who is a depressed, pre-pubescent 7 foot tall Brazilian giraffe called Vuvuzela. In the fashion world, even Peaches Geldof can be a big hitter, despite the fact that she looks like novelty Clement Freud doll.
The lexicography of wankiness
Fashion terms have started worming their way into the English language with frightening regularity. Never a day goes by when you don’t hear some bone- headed nonce utter the words ‘loving it’, ‘must-have’ and ‘investment piece’. Most odious is the fashionista’s idea that wearing clothes is somehow an activity in itself. For example ‘Miley Cyrus is really working that look’. (Yes, because putting a whore-tastic corset over your head is akin to being a junior doctor on nightshift at the bowel ward.)
Gay men who don’t care
From Valentino to Gok Wan, fashion would have you believe that gay men live to celebrate your utter fabulousness. But unless they’re designers or stylists who are being paid a handsome wage, gay men couldn’t give a flying butt plug about what you look like.
Women of Britain, have you seen the dead expression in Gok’s eyes as he talks about your gorgeous bangers? That’s because your droopy permantanned crepey cleavage repulses him to the core. You know when he says ‘You go, girl’? He means it literally. Like – GO AWAY.
Yes, for upwards of a grand you too can own a gleaming sack of shite that looks like C3P0’s scrotum! With more belts and buckles than Frank Bough on a sex holiday to Thailand, designer bags are ugly as sin and cost more than a car. However, with your ‘must-have arm candy’ you’ll be revered by tedious women who know the difference between a quilted Chanel and a Fendi croissant. Never mind that you’ll fill it with biros, orange peel and bits of damp Wrigley’s Extra covered in fluff and then leave it in a taxi when you’re pissed.
So fashionistas, the next time you’re in Gap, having a big girly heart attack about the Perfect Trouser, or reading a copy of Grazia and jonesing for those fabulous Proenza Schouler painted high waist jeans, or hovering over the ‘Place bid’ button to snap up that ‘vintage’ H&M skirt from 2008, remember: fashion is shit. Instead, buy the clothes you like, wear them – and then talk about something else.