For the love of fucking ridiculous outfits
I went out last night and this is what I wore. (Don’t ask me why my head’s at that funny angle. Maybe it always looks like that and I just haven’t noticed until now.) I saw the playsuit on River Island’s website about a week ago and it subsequently appeared in visions on a daily basis until I bought it on Thursday. If you’re able to imagine such a thing, it’s even brighter in real life. It makes my pupils dilate and my heartbeat quicken. I have fallen head-over-heels in love with it.
When I was teenager I was always poncing round Macclesfield in daft outfits, sourced largely from Scope on Mill Street or Glastonbury, where I would spend all my savings on one huge weekend of shopping. Nylon granny dresses and tutus and sequined ties and shit. Our ‘smart casual’ 6th Form dress code was a daily exercise in rule-bending. I just fucking loved ridiculous 70s outfits. Getting dressed was exciting.
Then when I hit 19 I started to get fat and the magic disappeared. Clothes were chosen based on their structural qualities rather than the fabulous factor. I got thin again when I was 23 but it was pretty short-lived, until last year when I discovered my beloved running. Now my wardrobe is returning to its natural state of MENTAL ROCK STAR NONSENSE and it feels brilliant.
