If you like fashion, then thank the robots
I’m perhaps the worst one to talk about fashion.
Well, maybe I can happily talk about robots in fashion, but when it comes to actual fashion then count me out. I was a child when flares, platform shoes and afro haircuts were all the rage.
Looking back on some old family pics now gives me nightmares. What happened to the human race in the 1970s? We must have collectively been on something strange because why would we dress like that; what happened to restraint, style and decorum?
We wore Oxford bags to school. Now, I think these were all the range back in the 30s when toffs were baggy trousers and smart blazers to their genteel public schools. They looked the part. We didn’t look the part with our version. Our things were high waisted (at least four buttons to do up, which acted like a weight-trainers belt) and boy, were they wide. They were like reams of sail cloth, buffeted by the wind and made scout-tent like when the rains came. In fact, after a mild shower and a northerly, you looked like Coco the Clown having a bad day in front of a wind machine.
We added to this overall misery with platform shoes (at least an inch), which were known as brothel creepers. I was a bit young to get that reference, but what the hell, if you looked silly from the outset, what the hell did a pair of stupid shoes matter? And on Saturdays, when the tribe felt violent, brothel creepers were replaced with bovver boots and football team scarves were tied tightly around our skinny wrists.
If we were in school, we topped off the look with tight white shirts (featuring a slight check) and ties that had huge knots, resulting in the lower part of the tie being about the size of stunted cucumber. Our afro haircuts were buffed for maximum height, giving the appearance of having one’s hand continually in an electrical socket.
So no, don't ask me any fashion advice. And I’ve moved on from the clown look of the 1970s, but I don't know how far I’ve moved on!