So, it has been nagging’ at me for time.. a long time. The trend or ‘fad’ if you like has been standing over dancefloors dropping bombs to the unaware masses for at least 12months now.
This common phenomenon hasn’t shown any evidence of subsiding. It seems to be getting discovered more and more throughout clubland. Someone in a boardroom containing a troop of ‘smart casual’ dressed designers is chewing on the end of a pencil giggling. Looking down at their doodles of flower pots and scribbled cock n balls on last months minutes, knowing they really are having the last laugh…
So, let’s cut to the chase. I ain’t a fashion follower, fuckin’ far from it. I like wearing rubber fishing jackets, shit high-street chinos that rip and horrendous christmas jumpers picked up in charity shops (of which I’ll add I seldom wash after buying and wear immediately, giving me a pungent musk of your dead Gran’s attic).
BUT… sometimes an unfashionable cunt like me has to stick his wrinkly neck on the line n ask:
“excuse me mate, why the fuck can I see your nipples??”
I understand if your kicking sand on the beach, or you’re raving so hard you feel the urge to share your sweat by rubbing your naked torso on my arm on the dancefloor. I’ll definitely let you off you’re at a decent fetish club or squeaking around in wellies / gum boots at the local P.I.S. event -
“a club for men into ‘watersports’, wanting to meet others with similar interests. Wear what you want, some come in footy kit, some joggers n trainers or some just wear speedos. P.I.S. welcomes anyone from experienced piss pigs to the complete beginner..”
- other than that, I’d keep yo nipples at bay mate!
So, delving in a little deeper - the best thing for the raver in my eyes is when the whole DJ box is full of DJ’s and other innocent bystanders, raising hands aloft in a celebratory fashion, jigging side to side seductively as if they’ve won the fuckin super-bowl or FA cup and it’s a tradition to carry out some sort of sexual Haka dance to house music. Whilst dancing in such a way, it won’t take long for you to lower your gaze slightly, tune the lamps, n ul spot a visual eye sore of collective chest hair, popping out the top of many a V shaped neckline t-shirt.
I myself, have not been blessed by the Lord in the chest hair department, I reckon you could count my lone stragglers on Jeremy Beadles, now dead and cold gammy hand (sorry). Maybe that’s why I chose not to wear them. That’s it, I have no chest hair.. Oh and I ain’t a fan off the shop All Saints, although a vintage sewing machine is ok in my book..
Now I’ll head into territory in danger of sounding like I’m belting out a rendition of Cliff Richard’s Christmas message… but it just pisses me off, the way society has to jump on a bandwagon. We all end up looking the same, sounding the same, shitting the same (although some men do wipe their ass back to front, at risk of spreading poo on their bollox), smelling the same, laughing at the same badly photoshop’d image 7377 times or sticking a triangle on a t-shirt or a club flyer cos everyone else is at it?
We all apply a ‘run of the mill’ to everything, so that everything we do is just one big ball of unsurprisingly safe and boring shite. If we don’t we’re classed as ‘uncompromising’ or a ‘try hard’, say things like ‘nice but i wouldn’t play it’ or ‘ooh that looks good but not sure if i’d eat it’.
….but, come on! When did society ever decide that in order to be very wicked at playing music to people twatted off their faces on a dancefloor ever warrant wearing something as fuckin ridiculous as this:
‘Whatever’. Either way, this phenomenon can be found at a nightclub near you. In the mean-time, I dug out a couple here from the AW011 collection for your perusal..
Posted at 1:43pm and tagged with: Everything, tomdemac, toms a tool, scoopneck, scoop, neck, nipples,.
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