I’m not really about what my ‘look’ is. I’m not really about what my look is telling you, other than it is usually telling you that I am broke, on the verge of a breakdown and possibly colourblind. I’m also not a ‘girly’ girl – I don’t have magnets on my fridge saying things like ‘I ORGASM Shopping and Shoes!!’ and ‘If only men’s cocks were made of CHOCOLATE LOL!!!’
This will all become obvious when you witness my new finds on Thrift Street.
“BLACK VELVET and that little boy smile!” honked Alannah Myles, or ‘Alan’ as I imagine I would call her if we were to meet. And if we were to meet I can wear this little vintage Badge of Sophistication, the black velvet pencil skirt. Velvet is sophisticated? I hear you ask. You’re damn right. Like shoulder pads and pineapple.
This is a look which says ‘Tell me baby, do you recognise me? Well, it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me.’ All looks should ‘say’ a song by Wham if they’re going to say anything at this time of year. Wham or Kate Bush. Red satin genie-sleeved cropped jacket from Oxfam. HOT.
Bottle green belted corduroy skirt from the former Marks and Spencers, St Michael. Cost me 50pence, makes me look at least twice that in small change.
Mittens mittens mittens. I was a leather gloves girl until I saw these two pound handmade little darlings just waiting to warm up my handlingtons, as I call the hanks of meat on the end of my fleshsticks.
It’s a metallic blue backless swimsuit with the words ‘Hollywood Starlet’ written all over it. It cost me one pound fifty. It’s a look I’m trying to get off the ground called Swimbody. ‘Swimbody Stop Me!’ I shout as I arrive in my swimsuit, ‘Do you need Swimbody to love?’ I holler, ‘Could I be Swimbody?’ before I’m forcibly ejected from the shopping centre.