Fashion on the tube

[caddyman]

One of the things I like about living in London – during those periods when I am not hankering for a rural retreat back in Shropshire – is the variety of people you find here.

This morning, for instance, I was exiting the tube at Victoria when I noticed a young woman in her late twenties or early thirties dressed in what can best be described as Land Girl austerity chic, with a touch of Hill Billy and the Gypsy Rose Lees about her to boot. She had dark, curly hair piled up on her head, but loose behind, à la Andrews Sisters (of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy fame – look it up, kids) and held up with a red rose. Quite stark make up, but bright red lipstick. She was sporting faded jeans and a red/black chequered shirt, both about two sizes too big for her. Ver’ ver’ naice, and quite distinctive, too.

I tend to notice this sort of thing partly, I suspect, because I am a sartorial baboon, with no real concept of fashion. If it’s clean and it fits, then wear it. Other than making sure there are no obvious red/green or blue/yellow colour clashes, I frankly don’t take that much notice of what I wear. (Even the blue-yellow thing goes out of the window if I am wearing my old Shrewsbury Town footie shirt, as their colours are, er, blue and yellow). So basically, it's a subject on which I am eminently unqualified to speak. Which, of course, is why I am speaking about it.

With that in mind, it’s always quite nice to see someone who does understand the concept, especially when in cases like the girl on the tube, it’s someone who clearly carries her own little paradigm with her, and sod the rest of the world.

Comments

Look at me! Please!

[bluesman.livejournal.com]

I left London in 1990 to live in California, where the height of sartorial eccentricity is wearing a tie and cut-off jeans at the same time, so when I returned to the U.K. in '95 for a few weeks, I was surprised to see, in Central London, the alarming number of people who dressed, clearly, as eccentrically as possible. People from their early twenties - an age at which being a fashion victim is almost a requirement - to well into middle age were dressed in various ensembles which screamed "Look how eccentric I am". Pathetic, really.

There's a photo I love of the Surrealists, taken in the twenties or thirties, sitting together in severe suits, starched collars and ties. These were some of the most original minds of the time, and they were dressed like a bunch of staid bankers, didn't feel the need to outdo each other, "Ooh, I'm really out there, no honestly!"

I don't know whether the young lady in the tube station was adhering to a fashion credo or just threw on whatever was at hand that morning (my own blithe approach, much to my wife's ausement and occasional despair), and I have been referred to as "eccentric" from time to time, to my irritation.

Eccentricity is in the mind and heart, not granny's old dress.