Suits You, Sir.
My bad dress sense as a teenager is the stuff of legend. I feel a few posts coming on…

Age 20-odd I went to an indie night at Wigan Pier. Me and my pals were going through a bit of a Barbarella obsessive phase, so we thought it’d be a great laugh to go dressed in a futuristic spacey age-y way. At the time I’d just reached my full height of a shade over six foot. However the rest of me hadn’t caught up by then and I was incredibly thin and had absolutely no tits of which to speak. I looked a touch like a slightly startled anorexic giraffe.
So I dressed myself in a rather fetching tiny silver minidress and silver platform knee high boots. I then hit on the idea of dying my very short, scruffy blonde hair a rather fetching shade of candy pink. Shoved on some metallic jewellery and voila! Instant cool.

Headed out for what promised to be a cracking night, danced my little socks off in what was a really rather hot and sweaty club. After an hour or so, my mate takes me to one side and says “Err, Rak, you might want to go to the loo and have a quick look in the mirror…” Which I do, only to discover that the heat of the club and the sweat I’ve generated has made my hair dye run. All over my face. I now have a bright pink face. Which is showing no signs of shifting. I walk out of the loo to tell my mate I’m going home to repair the damage, possibly by sandpapering my face. As I leave the toilet a bouncer comes over and says (sounding in my head now, uncannily like Peter Kay) “Oi, sunshine, none of you pervy types in here, next time use the gents like the rest of the blokes.”

Yup, he thought I was a tranny. A big, pink faced tranny.

I bought a Wonderbra after that.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Fri 25 Aug 2006, 14:39, Reply)