Put it Away Love

As mentioned, it was a Bank Holiday over the last few days and I live in Brighton where tourists flock. Both locals and visitors alike head to the beach and I have to say, some of them were not appropriately attired.

I'm not even talking about spare flesh on show; I'm talking about the fact that the warm weather seems to relieve (women mostly) the British of their fashion reason and they step out of their homes on to the streets in attire that should never be seen by man nor beast. 

I witnessed some terrible shockers this weekend; too many to mention but they generally consisted of rather large women wearing either very tiny playsuits that rode up their sweaty crotches like nappies, or wispy little pussy pelmets that were so short when they bent over you can see what they had for breakfast - you most certainly got an eyeful of cellulite. Playsuits should not be worn by anyone over the age of 11, nor should they be accompanied by patchy orange fake tan.

Now I am all for people being able to wear exactly what they please, and I will defend their right to do so; I also firmly believe that I have the right to criticise and mock what they wear in the public arena. Perhaps it's because we seldom get a good run of great weather in England that we just don't have the resources in our wardrobes, but it certainly seems that most of these outfits have been cobbled together from rags found in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

Warm weather also highlights some appalling footwear choices. I have always believed that it is a crime to design and make ugly shoes; the shoe has the potential to aspire to such heights of wonderfulness that to reward it with anything less than beauty is a terrible waste of creativity. 

There has been a plethora of ugly shoes in the last year with my personal bugbears being those nasty holey suede sandals with a zip up the back of the ankle.  I actually find most flat shoes unaesthetically pleasing as it goes.

Even when you live by the beach it can be somewhat startling to see a very large man standing in the off-license in tiny black speedos with his rotund sweaty hairy belly spilling over into the ice cream fridge tainting the Cornettos and Strawberry Mivvis. You've just popped in to pick up some milk and people are queueing with their arses hanging out.

I did also see some incredibly stylish women out and about; one woman had on simple cream linen trousers, a well-cut soft grey marl vest top, and flip-flops and she looked cool, unflustered, and elegant.  There were also some fabulous dresses worn with wedges and long, sweeping maxi-dresses without floppy cleavages hanging out. Evidence that it can be done!

So this is an open letter to the great British public; maybe start your tan off in the garden or another enclosed space, buy some flattering clothes and look in the mirror before you step out in public. Perhaps even consider getting a second opinion - just because it's warm, doesn't mean we all want to see your thrupenny bit love.