Lock me up and throw away the Colours of Benetton tee.
I’m an #everydaystylemurderer.
Last week one of my favourite bloggers wrote about the trends that time forgot. It was almost like a laundry list of every faux pas I’ve ever made, and it inspired me to revisit my long rap sheet of crimes against fashion.
Here – for your viewing pleasure – are some of my most enduring disasters:
(Apologies for the dodgy pictures: this was pre-camera phones and social media. We didn’t spend all day every day taking photos of ourselves at flattering angles and running them through digital filters)
Dressing like an old lady
I went through an “indie” stage in my late teens and early 20’s. I somehow convinced myself that it was cool to dress like an old lady, so I dressed in vintage clothing. I don’t mean “boutique” vintage. I mean “ugly-old-mothball-smelling-deceased-estate” vintage from op shops.
I always dreamed of stumbling upon a pair of old Homy Ped granny sandals, but I’m kind of glad I didn’t. Are bunions contagious? With a manky name like that I’m sure they must be… But hey, who wouldn’t risk a cross-contamination of bacterial foot fungus in order to achieve this level of cool?
Dressing like a 1970s pimp
My “dress like an old lady” days were also my “dress like a 1970s pimp” days. I collected ugly old faux fur coats that made me look beyond awesome ridiculous. They also made me a walking fire hazard, thanks to a dangerously high concentration of polyester per square inch. Throw in toxic amounts of napthalene from the old-lady mothballs and I was literally SMOKIN’ (particularly if I dropped cigarette ash on myself).
Note: I can’t find photo evidence of me wearing this coat, but please admire my husband wearing it ironically instead. That dude has no idea when it comes to fashion.
Reasonably well-known fact about me: I am an unashamed fan of the bum bag. I’ve written about it several times on the blog before, yet for some reason people still think I am joking.
I never joke about fashion.
Here is a sample of a conversation I have with wearying regularity:
Them: Do you REALLY wear that thing?
Them: OMG I thought you were JOKING!
As I was going through photos for this post I almost wet my old lady panties when I came across this one from an anti-war protest I attended back in the 90s. I don’t even know what war. We had wars every other fucking day under the Bush administrations.
Anyway, I love this because it’s testament to my lifelong love for the bum bag – an affection that endures to this day. #sorrynotsorry
(That fucking cap needs to go though. This is what happens when impressionable young minds read too much Noam Chomsky).
Further evidence of my penchant for dangerously-flammable synthetic materials comes in the form of this delightful combination of 100% pure vinyl. I can say one thing – go for a night out in these babies and you will deadset perspire like a motherfucker.
Ironically you will slide off walls, tables, bar stools and the laps of random male strangers – but just TRY and slide OUT of those fuckers at the end of the night. It’s impossible. There’s seven litres of hot sweat forming an adhesive layer between you and those suckers. On the plus side, you could go out clubbing and easily lose 40% of your body weight in one night.
Red hair, red checked men’s shirt and red corduroy flares
One thing you need to know about me… When I commit to something – which is very rare – I COMMIT ALL THE WAY. I don’t actually remember a lot about the era which produced this fiery combination of clashing red ugliness, which tells me that I was probably drinking heavily at the time. In fact, I do look hungover-as-fuck in this photo.
Bottle green overall shorts
Four words I never want to see in the same sentence ever again.
Bottle. Green. Overall. Shorts.
Beer and cigarettes
Another sophisticated fashion statement from my 20’s. I literally accessorised with cans of VB and cigarettes for years – as in, I was never seen without them. I’m so old that I used to be able to smoke in pubs, clubs, cafes, concert halls and restaurants. Even in the office. I thought it made me cool, but in hindsight it probably just made me smell really gross delicious.
**sigh** Beer, cigarettes and my pert 20 year old ass. How I miss thee…
BONUS PIC: Me looking LOVELY in my year 10 formal dress
So, being the resident archivist of all things embarrassing I asked my mum to email some photos of me wearing ugly clothes.
She sent me this picture from my Year 10 formal.
That’s fucking vintage Lisa Ho right there. How dare you.
So there we have it… A tiny glimpse into my recidivist history of crimes again fashion. All I can say is thank fuck we didn’t have smart phones and social media back in my day. Every scrap of evidence of every time I ever fucked up is buried deep in my memory and/or in cardboard boxes – WHICH I WILL BURN!!
BURN WITH FIRE AND MOTHBALLS AND EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF VINYL AND/OR FAUX FUR CLOTHING I EVER OWNED.
Then I’m gonna light a cigarette off those flames. Beer me.