Number one gripe of the day is the latest skin care ad – Loreal “because I’m worth it.” Here we have Virginie Ledoyen, yet another in a long line of skinny, flat chested, pouting French chicks hawking skin care products. “Ooh moi skin is so fresh, ooh la la!”
Who the fuck does she think she is kidding?
Actually some small apologies to her – who the fuck do the advertising companies think they are kidding. She’s, what, eighteen? Twenty? Of course she’s wrinkle free.
But of course as I walk out among what passes for humanity these days and I realise – they’re kidding you. And you people buy it. And then go out and buy it.
Advertising people are bad. They are all evil and they should all be hunted down and made to pay for their sins. They are responsible for making the English language the mess it is today – they are prey on the human stupidity and sheeplike desire to be one of the flock, all the while trying to be different.
On occasion I catch a few seconds of some fashion television show or some sort, or I have a fashion magazine thrust into my face by Kiska. Who thankfully has fucked off to Russia for a while where she is enjoying herself and probably the focus of a great deal of attention, which she’ll no doubt lap up, given the fact that they all think that she has a pet kangaroo or something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly Russian bashing, I mean at least they know where their country is on the world map, and don’t think that we have kangaroos hopping down our main streets, unlike some people from other parts of the world, who I am sure that we can just write off as being from Unusually Stupid Areas.
Regardless, back to fashion. I’m not sure I understand the point of the creation of some of these items of clothing – some look like archaic forms of torture, others you wonder where they are.
Consider the fine tradition of the swimsuit calendar, found gracing garage offices, and football lockers the world over – so I’m told. I’ve never actually met anyone who hung one up – perhaps that’s just the company I keep, though. Most people are quite aware that it’s not about the swimsuit, it’s about the girl in the cozzie, to use the Australian term. (“Swimming costume” devolves into “cozzie”, over here for those foreign readers).
Sports Illustrated, the Rolls Royce of the field (who even knows if that’s still an appropriate simile these days) decided to drop the pretence of the swimsuit, and went with body paint.
In fact that’s a fashion I think we should all encourage, however, sadly for people like myself where a five-litre tub of Taubman’s will scarcely be enough for an undercoat, I feel that we may have to be unfashionable and frumpy and stick to clothes…