Wednesday, 30 June 2010

Clothes Show London

We travelled for three hours on bus and train due to engineering works. We journeyed on the tube in 30 degrees. We plodded up to the doors of Earls Court, many of us feeling foot pain (except me who was wearing comfortable yet vile Clarks sandals). We entered, walking extra slowly as we passed the model scouts. They failed to notice us. We perused the various different stalls for a couple of hours. We found the model scouts' stand and we strolled past it a few more times. We got the message. We ate shockingly overpriced wedges with cheese. Some opted for barbecue sauce. For dessert we found a Muller free sample stall but failed to be over 16, thus not eligible for a rice pudding. We got pounced on by a pleasant Italian salesman who tried to sell us a shit nailbar kit. We got told that if we bought a £3 paper bag we'd get 3 goody bags instead of one. We neglected to realise these goody bags would be identical.
We went to the Fashion Theatre - a catwalk which was reasonably entertaining except for its failure to tell us where the clothes were from, the mediocrity of the choreography, and the anonymity of the supposedly celebrity presenters.




The photos were a slight fail due to the inconsiderate bastards sitting in the rows in front of us.

The highlight of the day was being able to stand in front of this wall. We felt special.

Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Clogs: What the hell

My magazine told me that Crocs were in. I read the sentence again about twelve times, to find that it actually said clogs; yet my anguish was reduced only infinitessimally.
What the hell.
To my understanding, these are clogs:

I might as well get it out in the open now: I own clogs. They were a sad by-product of a holiday in Holland. What are they? The Dutch failed attempts at early shoes? I can only imagine the sort of foot-related ailments these would cause. So naturally, when I saw the word 'clogs,' I spent a few distressed seconds imagining a wave of yellow wooden slabs, actively and happily vile.
Topshop's versions:

While slightly less vile than I feared, they manage to be hideous and elegant at the same time. You have to respect that clumpy, woody goodness. But I was suspicious: I feared there must be some greater ugliness lurking below the surface.

There is. 'Swedish Hasbeens,' who must be ecstatic that clogs are actually in fashion, have created these ugly shits. It's the yellow again. These must be the closest you can get to wearing clogs without actually wearing clogs (which should be punishable by death), and this deeply disturbs me.
Clogs - why? Why would you resurrect these ugly dogs? It's Chanel's fault - the same Chanel who caused Topshop to have a 'Temporary Tattoos' section on their website. I think Chanel are laughing as they increase the ugliness of our appearances bit by bit.