Sheila Dikshit, the Chief Minister of Dehli. Yes, really.
I spent Sunday shopping like a bitch thanks to my pal The Nicky who persuaded me to part with £80 for a new pair of pointy shoes. What was meant to be a swift trip to that ungodly vault of mainstream overkill, Urban Outfitters (wanted a very specific limited edition tee-shirt, in case you were wondering), turned into a full-on three hour bender. I clearly have no self control. But at least I now have a cool new pair of shoes.
All was going shoppingly well until I flippantly suggested we have a butchers at the “poncy pointy-toed tosser shoes” in the Swear shop on Carnaby Street (there’s usually lezzers in that shop too, although that had nothing to do with us going in there). And it was there that my eyes connected with these puppies (not Hush in the slightest):
However, this acquisition has thrown me into the grips of a moral conundrum with which I must now wrestle. Having spent the best part of the past year voraciously slagging off skinny jeans, I now find myself a little bit tempted to invest in a pair to allow me to fully exploit the tossy-ness of my nice new pointy shoes. I have already been assured that they do not look cool with my worn out baggy ripped Levis (trying on the shoes in the shop with the aforementioned jeans was a little bit painful for me. More so for The Nicky who was subtly trying to pretend that she wasn’t with me. Not so subtle, eh? I knew). And when I got home and put on my skinniest jeans – which, FYI, aren’t technically skinny jeans – they are ‘straight leg’ – the shoes looked Hot. Hot Shizzle, in fact. As I said, chase me bad boy.
So I find my loyalties being tested. Do I remain committed to my Anti-Fashion and therefore Anti-Skinny Jeans cause, or do I sell out and get some spray ons? It’s a tough one to call. Half the reason I hate skinny jeans is because they remind me of my ex and vacuous wankers like her who take the Dedicated Follower of Fashion lyrics far too seriously. Twits who wear skinny jeans even if their arse shape and muffin tops are telling them that it is the Worst Idea in the World, Ever.
However, there are many people who wear skinny jeans and look good. There are also people who wear skinny jeans, look good and aren’t actually wankers. Like my mate The Nicky. So maybe I should knock the skinny jeans chip off my shoulder and get some.
I reckon I might look alright in skinny jeans – all that football has ensured that the only muffin tops you’ll see near me are the sort I buy from the Sainsbury’s bakery section. And, although my arse is noticeably larger since rekindling my love of sport, it’s still by no means like a heiffer’s rear end. Maybe I’ll try some on next time I’m on C-Street…
For someone who prides themselves on being assertive, strong-minded and independent I’m doing a pretty rubbish job at being Me at the moment. My once iron-like constitution has rusted away leaving a pathetic state of semi-permanent hyperchondriasis, my supposedly dominant personality is questioning its once indubitable authoritah and I can’t remember the last time I had some quality time with myself. I feel a bit like The Shaz, as it were, is starting to take on the form a piece of Play Doh(monochrome, probably royal blue) that’s been ‘sculpted’ in a manner reminiscent of a Louise Bourgeois piece.
I’m thinking small-bodied many-spindly-legged spider – with very thin, precarious limbs that look as if they might break at the slightest knock. I hate spiders. And, I especially dislike spiders’ legs. Half of me thinks I should reel the legs back in, double some of them up (thereby strengthening the important ones, while regrettably sacrificing the rest). The other half thinks some of those legs should just be hacked off and be done with it. Yet another half thinks I’m doing fine and I should ignore any criticism. Can you see what I mean – since when have there been more than two halves in a whole? This splintering of personality is another obvious problem…
It seems there just isn’t time for me to fit everything that I want to fit into the traditional 24 hour day. The upshot of this is that, alas, some spider legs don’t look as healthy as others. Another upshot is that I’m tempted to start resenting some of the legs for being there, demanding my time. I’m fully aware that this is stupid, so am proactively stopping myself. And in doing so, have just given the spider sculpture another leg! Maybe I’ll start eating some of the meatier looking ones – it will certainly save time in the kitchen, which can hopefully be invested elsewhere in more rewarding activities. Like, for example, spending some quality time in my darkroom playing with the lovely new medium format contact printer that I just bought.