Is anyone else also starting to feel that fashion is becoming impossible for a still vaguely youthful thirty-something to pull off without looking utterly ridiculous?
The faux peasant look I could cope with. 70s retro - fabulous. 50s prom queen - difficult with a flat chest and no waist to speak of but not insurmountable. The tunic top and skinny jeans thing - lovely low maintenance and even my stumpy little legs can (just about) cope with it.
But what's with this nu-rave and 80's fabulous nonsense? It's like I'm stuck in a teenage time warp and it wasn't any great shakes the first time around.
Neon coloured Katherine Hamnett-style logo tee's? With clashing leggings? The Aceeed smiley face as a logo of choice? Puffball and ra-ra skirts? Give me a break. And scarier still, I keep spotting the hair style of desire for my 12-year-old self - the rat's tail (which thankfully my parents, who I thought were so mean and square at the time, refused to allow on my headstrong head) - being sported by smugly fugly East London fashion forward types.
And then there's the emerging Robert Palmer 'Addicted to love' look. I don't object to it on grounds of style, as it is rather sexy - that combo of clingy Azzedine Alia and skyscraper heels is catnip for chaps - I object to it because I haven't camped out in a Pilates studio for the past decade, occasionally allowing myself the indulgence of having a single lettuce leaf pass my lips. That look on me is more along the lines of blowsy barmaid with lumps in all the wrong places than sexy honed 'n toned vixen.
What's next? A Brosette revival? An Adam and the Ants tribute? Snowashed jeans? Satin knickerbockers with silver piping teamed with silver pumps with a clip on bow and an enormous ruffled shirt (my mid-80's disco outfit in which I boogied on down to Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Wham!, Duran Duran, Sister Sledge... ahhhh - but actually, thinking about it, I'm pretty sure I saw something similar on the fashion pages not so long ago...)
The very thought makes me feel as ill as the cider I used to chug down at all those degenerate schoolie parties.
Maybe it's time to accept that my style choices have narrowed to two distinct 'looks' - mutton dressed as lamb, or plain mutton.
What's a girl (old bag) to do?
The faux peasant look I could cope with. 70s retro - fabulous. 50s prom queen - difficult with a flat chest and no waist to speak of but not insurmountable. The tunic top and skinny jeans thing - lovely low maintenance and even my stumpy little legs can (just about) cope with it.
But what's with this nu-rave and 80's fabulous nonsense? It's like I'm stuck in a teenage time warp and it wasn't any great shakes the first time around.
Neon coloured Katherine Hamnett-style logo tee's? With clashing leggings? The Aceeed smiley face as a logo of choice? Puffball and ra-ra skirts? Give me a break. And scarier still, I keep spotting the hair style of desire for my 12-year-old self - the rat's tail (which thankfully my parents, who I thought were so mean and square at the time, refused to allow on my headstrong head) - being sported by smugly fugly East London fashion forward types.
And then there's the emerging Robert Palmer 'Addicted to love' look. I don't object to it on grounds of style, as it is rather sexy - that combo of clingy Azzedine Alia and skyscraper heels is catnip for chaps - I object to it because I haven't camped out in a Pilates studio for the past decade, occasionally allowing myself the indulgence of having a single lettuce leaf pass my lips. That look on me is more along the lines of blowsy barmaid with lumps in all the wrong places than sexy honed 'n toned vixen.
What's next? A Brosette revival? An Adam and the Ants tribute? Snowashed jeans? Satin knickerbockers with silver piping teamed with silver pumps with a clip on bow and an enormous ruffled shirt (my mid-80's disco outfit in which I boogied on down to Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Wham!, Duran Duran, Sister Sledge... ahhhh - but actually, thinking about it, I'm pretty sure I saw something similar on the fashion pages not so long ago...)
The very thought makes me feel as ill as the cider I used to chug down at all those degenerate schoolie parties.
Maybe it's time to accept that my style choices have narrowed to two distinct 'looks' - mutton dressed as lamb, or plain mutton.
What's a girl (old bag) to do?
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