DIY fashion
As a teenager I went to the Venice Carnival. I made a mask out of a paper plate, got a metal coathanger and bent it into horns around my head and draped a black tshirt over that. At the time I thought I looked really cool, but thinking it over...
Tell us about your own oh-so-cool fashion innovations.
( , Thu 24 Aug 2006, 14:24)
As a teenager I went to the Venice Carnival. I made a mask out of a paper plate, got a metal coathanger and bent it into horns around my head and draped a black tshirt over that. At the time I thought I looked really cool, but thinking it over...
Tell us about your own oh-so-cool fashion innovations.
( , Thu 24 Aug 2006, 14:24)
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When Fashion and Flame Meet
Growing up as I did, in the 80s, in a Yorkshire village, I was clearly at the cutting edge of fashion to rival Vivienne Westwood herself. Back then the 'cool kids' had Naf Naf black nylon puffa jackets, purple HEAD bags and global hypercolour t-shirts (why you would want to advertise the fact you were sweating like a rapist is beyond me).
And of course, the obligatory shell suit. I was so pleased when my cousin handed hers down to me. Bright green with fetching neon pink highlights. Me and my little friends would get together wearing them and go off on adventures.
Until one fateful morning my friend Jake, who was about nine at the time, picked up a lit candle whilst wearing his shell suit. Quicker than you could say WHOOMPH, his chest was alight. Leaving green nylonny globs of suit nestled amongst his melted chest. 15 years later and Jake still has that scar (and is down in nipples to the tune of one).
The moral? FASHION CAN KILL. Especially if your chosen attire is a flammable lesiure suit.
( , Fri 25 Aug 2006, 14:30, Reply)
Growing up as I did, in the 80s, in a Yorkshire village, I was clearly at the cutting edge of fashion to rival Vivienne Westwood herself. Back then the 'cool kids' had Naf Naf black nylon puffa jackets, purple HEAD bags and global hypercolour t-shirts (why you would want to advertise the fact you were sweating like a rapist is beyond me).
And of course, the obligatory shell suit. I was so pleased when my cousin handed hers down to me. Bright green with fetching neon pink highlights. Me and my little friends would get together wearing them and go off on adventures.
Until one fateful morning my friend Jake, who was about nine at the time, picked up a lit candle whilst wearing his shell suit. Quicker than you could say WHOOMPH, his chest was alight. Leaving green nylonny globs of suit nestled amongst his melted chest. 15 years later and Jake still has that scar (and is down in nipples to the tune of one).
The moral? FASHION CAN KILL. Especially if your chosen attire is a flammable lesiure suit.
( , Fri 25 Aug 2006, 14:30, Reply)
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