Dear Diary: Sometimes, I look around the current fashion scene, and think I must be quite out of step with the times. Or perhaps it’s a sign of my incipient old age, but there are so many looks and fashions I find singularly unappealing, even downright insulting to the intelligence, even as my peers laud them to the skies and swoon with apparent delight.
Take, for example, Stephen Sprouse, whose Sixties-derived designs have inspired press adulation and spawned rivers of ecstatic prose. He’s been hailed as “prophetic,” “directional,” “influential” – the man of the moment, according to most members of the Fourth Estate.
The two-time cancellation of his New York shows has left many journalists in abject despair, deprived of the opportunity for further overblown praise of their current darling.
As far as I’m concerned, Dear Diary, as one who survived the mercifully short-lived Sixties styles, I can only look back on the thigh-high tunic dresses and psychedelic hose, the chalky lips, bouffant hairdos and tarantula eyelashes, and heave a giant sigh of relief. Researching the Sixties (essentially what Sprouse does) represents no great feat of design inventiveness. The Sixties weren’t that attractive the first time around.
As for the teens and 20s who haven’t lived through them, who might possibly find Sprouse’s graffiti-splashed minis and Courreges look-alikes amusing or novel, they’re most unlikely to be able to afford Sprouse’s overpriced styles – and the well-over 30s, who can afford them and have swallowed the hype wholesale, had best take a good, long look in the mirror.
Nor, Dear Diary, do I find the “Madonna” look charming. As a publicity shtick, it’s all very well for a rock star, but assorted bits and pieces of flesh, more or less covered with snippets of grungy lace, black leather, net and mesh; mixmaster hairdos plus perpetual pouts, sleepy eyelids and provocative poses do not add up to cute or titillating, especially on pre-pubescents.
And I find the current wave of spiked, peroxide-tipped, overgrown brush-cut hairdos sported by so many young men and women frankly hideous. Don’t they see how ugly they look? Does nobody want to look pretty any more? And, Dear Diary, I dread to think of this coming fall. Those stirrup ski pants that turned up on every runway, that somehow looked awkward on even the lithe, rail-thin models, are likely to be quite appalling on the vast majority of women, since they accentuate every figure problem. What’s more, you just know they’re going to be worn with all the wrong things, with high heels and contrast hose, for example. Tucked into sleek, flat bootlets for sport or leisure occasions only, they’re quite passable but, sure as death and taxes, they’re bound to be worn all wrong.
I also hate, loathe and abhor ankle socks with high heels, especially with skirts. Few combinations look more ungainly, yet I see them even in leading fashion magazines. Where is everyone’s taste? And where did they dredge up those pointy-toed, lace-up ankle boots that make everybody mince? Safely hidden under a Victorian ball gown, tucked under lacy pantaloons, they may have been all right, but with contemporary clothing and, horrors of horrors, ankle socks and miniskirts, they are truly grotesque. Nor do the other footwear alternatives represent my shoe of choice. Construction boots and orthopedic track shoes are hardly flattering options and they do very little for most fashions.
As for the recently introduced skirts for men, I confess to considerable skepticism and dismay. I like my men elegant, distinguished and authoritative and it’s a safe bet they’ll achieve none of those things wearing skirts. Besides, women have been trying to liberate themselves from those same skirts for centuries, because they are restrictive and limit freedom of movement. And since men haven’t had the benefit of generations of training in the fine art of navigating discreetly in skirts, they’re going to look pretty foolish showing off their hairy shanks, ankle socks and clumpy shoes.
As for graffiti makeup, beaten and bruised cosmetic effects, tattoos, diamonds embedded in teeth or fingernails, flotillas of ear studs, neon- dyed hanks of hair and symbols or motifs, landscaped or shaved into hairdos, the less said, the better.
And, several seasons after their introduction, neon colors in large doses still set my teeth on edge. Sadly, they’re not likely to go away in the near future. So, Dear Diary, we’ll just have to grit our teeth for the duration. But don’t the neon- lovers notice what terrible things vitriol green and bile yellow do to their complexions? Traditionally, men and women have tried to make the most of whatever assets we were blessed with, and done our level best to camouflage our flaws. It has to do with elementary esthetics, personal pride and a certain subtle form of good manners.
I’ve always liked pretty clothes, appealing colors, amusing accessories and enjoyed the purely feminine pleasure of getting dressed up and wearing makeup. Most of the men I know enjoy their role and take pleasure in looking fashionable. That’s why, Dear Diary, I’m puzzled by so many currently trendy looks which, with all due respect, make most people look needlessly unattractive.
Perhaps I’m an anachronism.