I don't get fashion, as many will testify.
I remember flicking through a copy of Vogue a girlfriend had (OK - I bought deliberately for my boyfriend), that opened with "You can breathe a sigh of relief, girls - grunge is over!", and thinking to myself, "If you didn't like it ... why did you do it?"

I don't get who says what this season's ins and outs are, what authority they have, or why people obey them.

And don't get me started on oh fuck it I think I'm still drunk
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 13 Sep 2013, 9:11, 1 reply, 12 years ago)

Still prefer the 1940's private dick look eh?

( hartley hare Just some prick who thinks it doesn't apply to him, Fri 13 Sep 2013, 9:13, Reply)

At the moment I'm rocking a Reverend Zombie's House Of Voodoo t-shirt, leather jacket
and skinny jeans, with an increasingly laughable amount of silver jewellery.

I think I might start a pub rock band.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 13 Sep 2013, 9:16, Reply)

the 1940's private
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 13 Sep 2013, 9:16, Reply)