After a season of snow, the sniffles and incessant talk about national solvency, the spring / summer collections are bid to return! Yes, I knew you’d be excited; even if there’s no chance of wearing anything that isn’t thermal/waterproof/doesn’t convert into a tent for at least another three months. That being said, if and when, the sun decides to grant us with its presence, there’s a big chance we’ll all be stepping back in time.
It appears the seventies are making a comeback and with it the promise of high-waisted bell bottom trousers, stacked wedges and octopus-inspired felt hats (insert cynicism here). It’s not that I can’t get down with a Studio 54 vibe. It’s just the fact that there is only one Bianca Jagger, there was only one Farrah Fawcett and there will never be, with good reason, another Bee Gees. Self-reflexive irony has cavorted wantonly across the fashion terrain for years (think American Apparel, the Bernard Shaw, Vanilla Ice). It’s gotten so that clothing has become effectively past tense where the spirits of bygone muses are ‘channelled’ into looks with sell-by dates. It’s time we put an end to era recycling. Now! (She dismounts her soapbox.)
I’ll be the first to admit that fashion is essentially postmodern in its reconfiguration of the erstwhile. Yet even last season’s Mad Men homage fell foul to the everyday reality of rain, wind and general ‘can I be arse Spanxing myself into a circle skirt and skin tight sweater’- even if the figure-friendly look did involve more accommodating kitten heels. The truth is despite the days getting longer or mercury potentially rising, there’s only so much a gal can be bothered suffering for fashion’s sake.
Let’s break it down. It’s a balmy evening. I’m having a pasta-free week and decide to opt for a diaphanous blouse, macramé scarf and some Charlie’s Angels denim flares. Permanently inhaling (but happy), I strap on five inch cork platforms and decide it is indeed a night for dancing. Question time! Do I a) get told by the doorman that ‘fancy dress does not mean you’ll get in free; no matter how old you are’ (ouch!) or b) receive an unsolicited edict from the taxi driver that ‘if you remembered it the first time, you shouldn’t be wearing it the second time’? Either way, I think I’ve proven my point.
