Harriet on…fashion.

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(ie Harriet gets a little bit ranty on you.)

I’ve always thought fashion’s a bit of a weird thing. I mean, either you like something or you don’t. You don’t like it because someone else tells you that’s what you should like. Take the trend of clashing prints, fair enough if you do genuinely like the outfit when it’s pulled together, but you wouldn’t squeeze lemon and lime onto your baked beans and eat them with ice cream if “the powers that be” told you it was cool would you?

I suppose that’s the whole pull of celebrity culture these days. I just plain don’t get it though. I mean, I absolutely love Fearne Cotton, I think she’s amazing, beautiful and wears some brilliant stuff. But I’m highly aware that I’m completely different in size, shape and pretty much every other category, so when I see Fearne wearing x, y and z, I don’t run out to the shop and buy those things.

We have a lot to blame fashion for, like seeing obese people in crop tops, like seeing chavs’ camel toes, like PAIN on nights out. I guess that’s the only ‘fashion’ I’ve subjected myself to, silly high heels. Girls suffer so much for beauty! It’s all eyebrow plucking and blister-inducing platforms.

Perhaps we should have a national ‘go out to a club wearing no make up and flat shoes day’. There probably already is one, organised by the modern day Germaine Greer or whoever. In fact, I think I’ve done this – definitely the flats bit and luckily my height means I didn’t look like an underage midget.

Anyway, back on trend (see what I did there?) high fashion is fine to admire from a distance, but let’s leave the pain to the celebs yeah?

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