A Fashion Rant and My Design for Rick Owen

Yes, it's time for my annual fashion rant. Hoist up the bridges, affix your armour and be prepared to do battle with a host of Mrs T's anti-fashion hyperbole and rhetoric.

Now, as usual, I manage to keep calm about the catwalk most of the time (even though most of the designers are clearly bonkers) until I see an outfit that is truly horrendous and my fashion steam gauge goes ballistic.

This happened a few days ago when I saw these pictures from designer Rick Owen's exhibition at the Paris fashion show. If you feel you can suffer the video footage the YouTube clip is below.



Now I've looked at this video several times. Apparently, the concept of female models carrying other female models is meant to be meaningful and saying something sincere about The Sisterhood. ( etc etc.)

Give me a break! I can read about that sort of feminist claptrap in The Guardian. But at least when I'm reading their diatribes I'm not vomiting over my keyboard.

Now it's not that I have anything against the idea of  The Sisterhood - I mean us girls having been watching each other's backs for years and many of us have been forced to wear sacks and babies on our backs since the beginning of civilization. So what we don't need is some overpaid, pretentious male fashion designer thinking he's saying something new and profound about The Sisterhood whilst his models have the indignity of having each other's backsides in their faces. Because, Mr Owens, us women already know what being a woman is all about and the difficulties we've faced and continue to face all over the world.

Also, Mr "Fashion" Designer, we don't want to see these poor women further humiliated wearing ugly, overpriced, ludicrous, not fit-for-purpose hideous carbuncles of clothing which are falsely masquerading as "fashion."

God, I am enjoying this rhetoric. I should have been a speech writer. If anyone out there needs one, I'm available for hire. Furthermore, you can get me for a reduced rate if you supply me with a selection of this season's designs from Marks and Spencers.

Now, I don't want you folks to think I haven't considered these designs seriously. I have. I also considered them alongside Rick Owens earlier fashion show which had men wearing designs with peepholes in them so you could see their assets.

Glorious. Just the sort of outfits I want to see when I'm picking up my kids from school or a loaf from the bakery.

Now we've all heard the argument that designs like these are just trend setters and when they translate into high street fashions they're more conservative.

So, in other words - the "women carrying other women" concept will become a very small backpack. Made of hessian. However, in Top Shop it will have sparkly bits stuck on it and a machine-stitched patch that says "Love Me, Love My Bag."

Joy. I so need one of those. I must ask Mr T to get me one for Christmas.

And the men's peephole garments will turn into...um.... um...ordinary trousers. Because anything else with a hole in it below the waist will result in being charged for public indecency.

So basically, the original designs don't translate into anything remotely similar and all this silly stuff on the catwalk is just exhibitionist, pretentious, arty-farty, egotistical fashion gibberish.

Rant over.

Anyhow, because it's a Saturday night and I'm in an artistic mood (and have nothing better to do) I've designed my own outfit especially for Rick Owens using his "peephole" concept. Imaginatively, I've called it "Man Wearing Romper Suit.". I am showing the "below-the-waist" rear view. Hopefully, Rick will wear it at his next show.

A Short History of Alzheimers in English. (Dementia and lying but fortunately no tractors.)

Let me tell you about Alzheimers.
Let me tell you about Alzheimers.
Let me tell you about Alzheimers.

Yep, you may have worked it out by now that people with Alzheimers tend to repeat themselves. This is something I never do.

UNLESS I’m drunk or I’ve forgotten what I’ve said and to whom. Unfortunately, as a mad, premenopausal woman close to insanity repeating myself is something that is becoming more frequent, is becoming more frequent. The worse case scenario is of course when I’m drunk AND I‘ve forgotten what I’ve said and to whom; my brain is then working on a level of stupidity comparable to Mr Bush’s; a potentially very dangerous and catastrophic situation indeed.

Anyway here’s a useful tip to avoid embarrassing fallout from such situations… Never Lie… or there is a distinct possibility you will be caught out.

On the whole lying is not good. Although there are times in life when a little white lie is acceptable. For example “I only had one piece of chocolate,” is an acceptable lie; it creates the illusion that you really are trying to diet in a rational kind of way when in fact you are alternatively secretly stuffing your face with pralines and starving yourself the next day. But generally lying is not a wise idea; even Mr Turley has realised that when I wear something new and he remarks upon it and I say “I bought it ages ago.” What I actually mean is one of the following;

a) “I bought it yesterday.”

b) “I bought it a long time ago but it’s been secretly stashed in the back of the wardrobe because it was hideously expensive.”

(Alongside a new pair of shoes and some size 10 underwear because by the end of the year I might have lost some weight AND the underwear was in the sales AND I felt good buying it at the counter next to the really fat woman… who of course turned out to be me because of that annoyingly placed mirror..)

c) “We may possibly have a slight overdraft.”

Fortunately, he hasn’t worked out yet that when I am wearing something that IS old and he doesn’t realise it and I say “Thankyou, Mr Turley” what I mean in fact is one of the following;

a) “You are getting Alzheimers because I’ve worn this dozens of times before.”
(But I don't because he might write me out of his will and I was planning to have a retirement of utter debauchery because he’ll have no idea who I am.)

b) “I must buy some new clothes because you obviously aren’t taking any notice of me.”
(Thereby making the purchase of new items morally justifiable.)

c) “Oh God he’s going crazy like the rest of his family.”
(Oh shit.)

Actually, before I get back on to the subject of Alzheimers let me say that I’m not really bothered about shopping or indeed clothes. Not enough people have food and water let alone clothes and so I can’t help feeling a little bit sick when I see people spending phenomenal amounts of money on clothes. I’d rather spend my money on books… at least you can learn something from them. The only thing I’ve learnt from clothes is that trying to squeeze myself into the size I was 20 years ago is;

1. Scientifically impossible; a large arse does not fit into jeans made for a small arse.

2. Demoralizing and depressing; hipster jeans are not made for women with guts. They are made for women who look like boys and boys that look like women.

3. Potentially damaging to the environment. Ever seen me get out of too tight jeans? No? Just as well - but you may feel the aftershocks anyway.

4. Bad for my language which becomes somewhat “blue.” Blue also being the operative colour as this is often the colour I am when I’ve managed to do the zips up.

On the plus side I have been contacted by the government who are manufacturing a replica of my arse as they believe they will able to use it to plug the hole in the ozone layer. Regrettably, I will not be paid heaps of cash but I understand I will have a wax works on show in Madame Tussauds alongside Kylie Minogue whose replica arse they plan to use to fill the gap between Madonna’s teeth.

Now where was I? Oh yes Alzheimers. Yep, it’s a miserable way to go. My father in law is 88 and is badly affected. It’s extremely sad for Mr Turley as his father alternately thinks hubby is an amorphous sibling, a soldier from his battalion during the War, an old school friend… in fact anyone else but his son. He is stuck in his long term memory and even that is confused. This once courageous man who served throughout the war, taught maths to generations of students, who raised his family with love and devotion, is reduced to a disorientated, demented shell.

It’s not much fun getting old; so here’s my advice. Live life to the full while you can; share some love and laughter along the way and if you have a full head of hair when you’re eighty and still in your right mind you’ll be a very lucky person indeed.

http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/

© Jane Turley 2008