Dumb Clothes

La’ve got the sh*ts. (“What’s new?”, you ask.) Today, my sh*ts are with Dumb Clothes. Hate ’em.

Case in point:  the ‘cold shoulder’ (CS) trend.

Yup: cashmere, draping, long sleeves and BARE SHOULDERS. I love you Scanlan, but did you outsource your thinking to that well-known rocket scientist, Melania Trump? That’s $500 worth of stupid right there. Can someone ploise explain this trend to moi? Am I missing something? (Something aside from shoulder-coverings?)

Even CR’s winter collection hopped on the CS bandwagon. Apparently winter CS clothes are not only Dumb, they’re rust-coloured as well.

And then there’s Milly, with a cold shoulder thing so drastic it’s almost a cold bosom thing:

I mean, srsly?!? You would have to have the side-boob of a goldfish to pull this off. Oh — but hang on, if that were the case, what would hold it up? As FC would say, Christ on a ship! Jesus on a bike! My head’s spinning, and my teeth are chattering so hard they might fall out.

Here’s another example of Dumb Clothes: the ‘pointless addition’.

This asymmetrical, slack-strapped booby-squisher-slash-WTF is a perfect example. Does it prevent lung disease? Is it to audition as an extra in a Blade Runner remake? Is it one-tenth of Rey’s next Star Wars outfit? Bassike describes it as a ‘stretch rib strap detail top’. La describes it as a heap of steaming horsecrap, an embarrassment to the baby elastanes that gave up their infant lives to make it.

Not to pick on Bassike, but — oh frock it, let’s keep picking on Bassike.

I give you: the back-to-front, chopped-shoulder windcheater.

Was so ready to hook into the ridiculousness of this look until…until…a memory…

Years ago, La had a tri-striped cardi from Cherry Lane. Bloody loved that cardi. Chunky horizontal slashes of navy, red and bone, with big, shiny navy buttons; it was style incarnate for Brisbane in 1988. It was also, however, BRISBANE — a place where even the flimsiest of cardis is, in the well-worn words of La Mamma Trivialista, as usless as tits on a bull.

An invitation to an 18th in the city where I grew up arrived, and I decided I’d wow the hicks with my big-city sophistication (even Joh-era Brisbane was The Big Smoke compared to…Gosford). Looking for inspiration in all the wrong places, I made the call to draw it from here:

I wore my Cherry Lane cardi backwards, in November, to a boy’s 18th birthday party, in Gosford.

Holy hell, the sh*t that rained down on me that night…*shudders*. Brings to mind Winston Smith’s terror at being trapped in Room 101 with the rats at the end of Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Like I said, I hate Dumb Clothes.