There comes a time in every person's life when they realize that being functional and practical trumps all other impulses. For example when waking up hungover at 1pm on your neighbour's lawn is no longer feasible - because your job started four hours ago and your neighbour may actually press charges the next time you attack their children because, in your mind, you believe them to be giant chicken nuggets.
But there is one world where practicality is damned and whether something is functional or not pales in comparison to how it looks. That my friends is the wonderful world of fashion. Well there is another world where practicality doesn’t matter and that’s called Ludlumville. Ludlumville consists of Scott Ludlam and I shampooing each other’s hair whilst discussing Jazz but as that world only exists in my mind moments before the neighbours turn the sprinklers on, for the purposes of this article we will stick with fashion.
The world of fashion is a wonderful world indeed, as this blog constantly demonstrates. It is a world where a whole number of sins or inconveniences can be washed away because you are acting “in the name of fashion”. It doesn’t matter if you might not be able walk tomorrow and constantly risk breaking your ankle as long as the shoes look right. It doesn’t matter that going to the bathroom is impossible if that dress, which you’re practically vacuumed sealed into, catches the right eyes. It doesn’t even matter if you take out a few sets of eyes on Melbourne cup day, on the way to get that chardonnay, as long as that fascinator is…. fascinating.
However, whilst we are on the topic of eyes and them being gouged out by loose peacock feathers, I want to acknowledge that the wonderful world of fashion does still have its failings. I know it may come as a shock to you but in this day and age there are still things that aren’t deemed acceptable when exclusively worn “in the name of fashion”.
I speak of course of clear framed, non-prescription glasses and the time I paid dearly for wearing them.
I know what you’re thinking, “but wait you’re a man, you can’t just wear things for fashion's sake anyway!”
Firstly; thank you for calling me a man, many of my exes wouldn’t and secondly, men for a long time have been making decisions solely for fashion purposes (except when going out to clubs with dress codes).
Flannel no longer means a man works at a lumberyard. Hats no longer mean a man is simply being sun smart. In fact, a five-panel hat combined with a paper-thin moustache means that a man is a unique individual and all his other douchebag friends with the same exact hat and moustache their unique individuals too. And, you know those big fancy bling watches, well they not only tell you the time but they tell you that the person wearing it probably lies about the amount of women he has 'got some' from.
Now in another life I was once a lowly accountant, before I found the joys of beanies and overgrown beards. And although I was an efficient hard working young man (cough, disclaimer if I ever have to return to the profession, cough) sometimes it was hard to find ways to fill the day. This was not only during an AFL offseason but also back before Facebook would pollute your newsfeed with every little thing that your friends did. If it was now, I probably would have just spent my days deleting those who continuingly liked vaguely relevant unfunny celebrity memes. But these were different times and I had to find other ways to amuse myself. So I decided to push the boundaries of fashion.
Brown dress shoes were no longer an item solely resigned to casual Fridays and thick pin stripes on dress pants? You better believe it.
Then the mother load.
I was always someone blessed with the gift of 20/20 vision but cursed with the ability to look great in clear-framed glasses. So one day I went for it and sashayed around the cubicles with my Rayban imitation lenses and for a moment I was the king. Sure there were questions, but because I looked so good and never wanted to take them off, I just told everyone that I had gone to an optometrist and I needed glasses. However, one side effect of wearing these imitation lenses was that they incidentally had a slight prescription on them which actually affected my own vision. My sashaying quickly turned into a blurry, headache filled stumble down the halls but god forbid I reveal the truth.
It was one week, one week I lasted until I feared they would give me permanent damage and told my coworkers I switched to contacts. Even on occasion faking contact related injuries to further the story’s legitimacy. All because I couldn’t just say I was acting “in the name of fashion” because some things are not yet accepted in the wonderful world of fashion. It’s enough to make me want to return to the smooth jazz filled sounds of Ludlumville.
By Kaleb McKenna