Every Saturday, Susan Muncey – blogger, trend forecaster and founder-curator of the online curiosity shop, ShopCurious.com – brings you The Dabbler’s style column RetroProgressive…
Post recession shoppers do not wish to appear ostentatious, so luxury designer brands are paring down their logos and replacing them with more subtle designs, as part of a move towards ‘anti-bling’ fashion.
I wonder if that goes for Wags too? I accidentally stumbled upon some on the Internet the other day, posing naked (in body paint bikinis) for Sports Illustrated, and I’m curious to know what sort of people look at this stuff. Presumably young men who are impressed by pneumatic breasts, glow-in-the-dark teeth, designer shoes and oversized handbags?
In the days of Gregory’s Girl, it was the football that mattered. Wistful schoolboy and dabbler extraordinaire, Gregory, manfully dabbled at the drums, mastered curious snippets of Italian, learned cookery with his budding chef friend, and took on board style tips from little sister Madeline in order to win Dorothy’s affection. And all because, in addition to her long flowing locks and buttock skimming shorts, Gregory’s Girl, Dorothy, was also admired for having a skill – her ‘natural ability’ on the football field.
Anyway, on the basis of Madeline’s advice, perhaps Wags should think less about love and more about football? In which case, innovative young Scottish designer, Emma Cowie, has come up with the perfect solution: designer clothing made from recycled footballs.
Ahhh…Clare Grogan!
Great film, which I haven't seen in years..but you've made me want to watch it again now
I guess Clare Grogan is the stuff of fantasy football, worm? Now there's an idea, I should have called this post 'fantasy football fashion'.
Gregory's Girl, that final nail in the coffin of the alpha male and thank goodness, the burden of carrying that particular torch was becoming tiresome. Post alphaism we mostly settled down to our natural role, grazing sheep, lighting candles at the alter of Ozzie Greer.
The movie, set in that jewel in the Scottish crown of urbanised hell, Cumbernauld or Kirkintilloch as was, then became the Stevenage of the north, Glasgow overspill, people and more importantly habits. The age old Glosgow tradition of leaving your shiv on a table at the door of the dance hall and collecting it upon exit, carried through to the new town.
Only one famous citizen, Moira Anderson.
Who?
Look it up yourself.
I see Emma went to the RCA that window on the world or at least onto that highway twixt Kensington and Knightsbridge, most of the time spent gazing out at the Lambo's whizzing past, at least that's what junior & co seemed to do, afterwords getting a card with the immortal words 'MA RCA'