Youth culture’s got nothing on me. . . I’m in vogue again
- Credit: Archant
Big knickers are back in fashion” shouts one recent headline. They do say that if you hang on for long enough you’ll come back into vogue. I am now vogue from the neck down... who said “and vague from the neck up”?
In the past, I have been teased – mocked even – for my staunch support of staunch support. But I have not wavered and now, it appears, the fashion industry has come round to my way of thinking... even if the pants on their lithe young models are a little less utilitarian than the ones on this older, saggier model.
I am thinking about my summer wardrobe at the moment. Last weekend, after more than five months of continuous wear, I put away my thermal vests.
Laugh if you will, I did not have a cold all winter. Nor flu... although I did have my annual flu jab at Boots in November. This year, I’m hoping Waitrose will be doing them.
Meanwhile, I am still wearing my 100 denier tights and a scarf. You have to ease your way gently into the warmer weather. I am anticipating a late frost.
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Young people can become twitterpated when temperatures soar into the 60s. That’s in Fahrenheit, of course. I just can’t seem to get warm in Centigrade.
The other day, my daughter announced she had been out bare-legged. And I saw a young man of my acquaintance, who is more accustomed to wearing the waistband of his jeans under his buttocks, attempting a similar feat with a pair of elastic-topped shorts. Not a good look, especially with winter white legs.
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But pale and interesting could also be making a comeback, and I’m right out there again. According to a news item, sales of fake tan are down by a fifth. It suggests the TOWIE (The Only Way is Essex) effect could be wearing off... on to the sheets, perhaps?
I have a number of friends who get or use fake tan.
I’m told you can have someone come round to your house and spray you with it. You stand inside a little plastic tent so the walls don’t end up displaying a stencil of you in Sanderson rosebuds outlined in satsuma orange... matching next morning’s satsuma orange stencil of you on a white bedsheet.
This is what you have to endure for beauty.
The most common reason for getting a fake tan, I believe, is that the tanee is about to go on holiday somewhere hot and doesn’t want to look white on the beach.
This, I’m afraid, is tantamount to being sheepish about being British. Looking white on the beach (day one) is what marks us out from other nations. Being bright pulsating scarlet on the beach (day two) is confirmation; being bright red under pink calamine (day three) keeps Britons off the beach for the rest of the holiday. Wear your pallor with pride.
On the subject of youth culture, my attention has been drawn to the phenomenon of silent discos. Checking this was not a wind-up, I made my usual foray into the cybersphere of Wikipedia where it explains that the dancers at silent discos wear wireless headphone receivers. “Those without the headphones hear no music, giving the effect of a room full of people dancing to nothing. Often two DJs compete for listeners. Silent discos are popular at music festivals as they allow dancing to continue past noise curfews.”
It is the end of social interaction as we know it, Jim.
But, at last, a solution to the problem of holding a conversation in a disco. We’ve all been there. The thump thump thump of the bass, vibrating through the floor; the ear splitting volume; the mesmeric lights. Your dance partner shouts in your ear. You can’t make out a single word but unable to convey this except, perhaps, through the medium of mime, you smile and indicate that you’re happy.
Which is fine unless he has just asked if you’re ok with him stripping off and dancing in the buff... which again, is fine unless it’s an especially bouncy number.
There is, however, the powder room mystery. How do young women co-ordinate their group trips to the ladies’ cloakroom? Is is caused by bladder synchronicity or extra-sensory perception?
At a silent disco, rhythmic dysfunction could occur if one dancer is strutting his or her stuff to garage (whatever that is) while the other is undulating to Robbie Williams’ Angels. One false move and someone is going to get knocked out. But, on the plus side, you only need to remove the headphones in order to converse at normal volume.
The danger is that one day, everyone will take off their headphones, rediscover the art of conversation and form debating societies.