What a day. Really. It’s one of those days where it’s impossible to know where to start.
Do I lead with Cameron’s resignation as an MP? (he resigned from being human quite a long time ago, or I suspect that would be next on his list of things to quit, due to having fucked them up). Apparently he doesn’t want to put Theresa May off by the media giving undue attention to the back benches. It’s not really that he wants to bugger off out of politics before people start getting all finger pointy about his complete uselessness again. Also, he’s probably got a nice little job lined up, somewhere in Europe. Sam’s written his reference for him. It’s got two gold stars and a smiley face on it.
Do I side step that in favour of David Davis, who has announced today that Brexit is really going to be quite tricky, and because it’s so tricky he’s mostly going to keep us all in the dark about what he’s doing? Would that be because he’s the only person on the planet who didn’t know it was going to be tricky, and now he doesn’t want us to know that he’s actually running around his office like a lunatic, holding the poisoned chalice in one outstretched hand, trying to think of ways he can get rid of it as quickly as possible? Or that much as I and nearly everyone else suspects, he’s not doing anything at all.
No. Politics is just too depressing.
Do I lead with the fact that the BBC have failed to broker a deal with Bake Off and it will not be coming back to Aunty next year, which surely is its death knell?
No. It is too, too, very sad for me.
Instead, I think I’ll have a crack at the wondrous article in the Telegraph today entitled: ‘Is your new season’s wardrobe guilty of man repelling?’
I know it’s an easy target, but it’s late, I’m tired and I’ve had a hell of a day which is not about to get any better, and I have to drive, so I cannot fall face down in a vat of gin. I have eaten an entire packet of Refreshers, but that’s not quite the same.
I did think this article might actually be satire, but it appears not.
Basically to sum it up, women should be wary of being too ‘fashion forward’ if they don’t want their men to find them ‘repellent’. It’s not just women who want to attract men they haven’t got here, by the way, it’s also women who are already in relationships who might scare off their partners by wearing snoods, or God forbid, sleeveless coats. Basically all women, everywhere must be constantly vigilant with regard to what they wear.
No woman wants to be scorned, or left by a man, or worse scorned and left.
Heaven forfend that we might want to wear something our man finds ugly on us, says the article, no matter how much we might like it, or think it’s cool. We must resist, for fear of being labelled the ‘ex-Mrs Putin in exile.’
On the list of things that men find upsetting to the point of having to physically remove themselves from you are big bikini bottoms, wide legged trousers, and peep toed shoes.
There is, you will be glad to know, a cut off point at which women are allowed to not take men’s taste into consideration when plundering the wardrobe. If a man wants you to wear short skirts, buttoned up pink sweaters and Mary Janes*, you are allowed to ignore him, because he is clearly beyond being saved.
There are so many things I find offensive about this article I really don’t know where to begin. It isn’t even that I find it offensive as a woman, I find it offensive to men too. Mostly it’s just flat out offensive all round.
Let’s start with the fact that it promotes the idea that women should dress to please someone else. This is all kinds of gross and not so very far away from the whole, ‘you wear a short skirt and show some cleavage, so you can expect to be raped,’ schtick that still gets trotted out despite it being completely despicable.
Here’s an idea. Why not let women, and men for that matter, dress however the hell they want without it having to be about pleasing anyone else but themselves, and if that means they spent 365 days a year dressed as Noddy or looking like jelly trapped in a roller blind, who gives a shit?
Let’s now examine the idea that men give a rat’s ass about what you are wearing to the point where they find you repellent. I mean, seriously? I cannot think of a single man I know refusing to go out with someone, or leaving someone they are with because of the way they dress. What would you have to wear to make your boyfriend/husband/potential lover use the word ‘repelled’ to describe how they feel about you? It’s not a meh word. It’s a strong word for a strong emotion, and frankly it’s shit.
Generally, it is my experience that if a man/woman wants to go out with you, you can turn up to a date wearing an old turnip sack with a lamp shade for a hat, and still take them home to bed, because guess what? They’re not that interested in your clothes. Some of my best dates have been where I have been somewhere entirely randomly, by accident and had my seventy fifth best pants on and hair that looked like squirrels have nested in it. No matter, for nobody really cares.
And if they are ‘that’ interested in your clothes, fuck ’em, and not in a good way.
I could then lead onto the fact that certainly my husband, and many men of my acquaintance would not know the term ‘fashion forward’ if it smacked them over the back of the head attached to a broom. Hell, I don’t know what’s ‘fashion forward’ come to that, and I expect that a great percentage of the population is with me on that.
My husband is, I have to say, absolutely disinterested to the point of catalepsy in what is in fashion and what is out. He will show slight interest if something looks like it might have cost me a lot of money. That is entirely due to him wanting to monitor how much of the food budget I might have spent on clothes, and whether that will affect how many fish fingers he gets to eat this month, and zero to do with the actual clothes or what I look like in them.
If your partner/lover/husband does not think you are brilliant if you wear clothes they don’t like, bin them off. The partner, not the clothes. If your partner finds your peep toed sandals disgusting, jab him in the eye with them. If your partner ‘insists’ that you wear something, cut it into teeny, weeny bits with a pair of pinking shears in front of him, and dance naked through the streets until he goes away.
Wear what the hell you want. Be who the hell you want. Be fashion backward, diagonal, back to front, arse about face. Wear nothing but fancy dress if that’s what you want to do. If it makes you feel good, wear it. If it doesn’t, don’t. It’s just fucking material. It’s not the answer to keeping someone in your life, unless it’s a strait jacket, and then you have a whole lot of other worries to deal with.
You don’t owe anyone anything to the point that they dictate what you wear, unless you’re in school or the armed forces, and your fashion choices are not your husband’s valium or amphetamine for that matter.
*And I love Mary Janes, for the record.