A Sneak Preview

Defying Diana: A Guide to Fashion by the Hand Me Down Kid

Like many women of our generation, my attitude towards the very clothes I wear everyday is conflicted and confused. On the one hand, thanks to an indulgent twenty five year long diet of adverts, peer pressure, popular culture and magazines I am adept at reading the “hidden codes” behind the clothes we all wear. Like so many women I have spoken to, I learnt from a very early age that wearing the wrong thing can land you in all sorts of trouble. One bright summers day, when I was aged seven, the bullies in the playground battered me over my head with my bright green trainers that I loved but had bought from a market rather than a sports shop. At this moment I had the rather abrupt and startling realisation that this fashion thing wasn’t a passing trend, it was here to stay and how I reacted to it would shape my life. It was here the confusion began.

At such an early age, it seemed I had two choices, either to play the system: follow all the latest fashion trends and be thought of as stylish by all my friends. Or, on the other hand, I could rebel, refuse to conform and wear the green trainers, batterings be damned! I don’t think I am unique here. Consciously or unconsciously, every single child in mainstream education has to make this choice. Even when schools desperately clamp down and put uniforms in place, fashion has a way of seeping through in the little details, from shoelaces to bags to hairbands. The bullies have an eye for detail and will always find a way to separate the weak from the strong, the rich from the poor.

For many, conformity is bliss and for the children who choose to play the system, you can see why. They buy the branded goods and follow their favourite magazine’s “Top Tips for Hot Hair”. They dutifully lower their eyes to the ground when big, stilettoed Diana from year 10 is coming down the corridor. They hope to God she won’t notice them, because they heard what she did to Tracy Evans last week for the crime of having a dodgy perm. Who can blame them, really, for playing the game, and making their life at school just that bit less hellish? Of course, there has always been bullying as long as children have congregated and not all of it is fashion related. Yet, I feel that the pressure on our mother’s and grandmother’s generations to look the same and blend in was not as intense as we have experienced, due to the prevalence of advertising and dominance of global brands in the twenty first century. I have talked so much about the school system not because of lasting trauma (although that trainer did have a nasty sting!) but because these tender years are where our attitudes to the fashion machine are forged, shaping our adult thinking for the rest of our lives.

The situation is worse for girls than boys as they are targeted more ruthlessly by the media and fashion trends seem more fickle for them, changing at a bewildering speed. I remember many midnight conversations at sleepovers with teenage girl friends when they urgently confessed deep insecurities about being ugly, the wrong size, hideous, and unworthy. In a healthy society there simply should not be such a prevalent undercurrent of self hatred in the psyche of our female youth, a time of life when you should be full of self pride and vitality, not despair and an ever present feeling of hating your own skin.

In terms of my own journey, I did not, could not, and would not conform. Even aged seven, something did not sit right with me that anyone, however big and threatening, could pressure me into wearing something I didn’t want to. Moreover, it made me angry and defiant towards them. I clearly remember, standing in the playground with tears streaming and a bruised head, that I couldn’t understand why one shoe with a tick on it was better than one without. This acute sense of the absurdity of the fashion industry has stuck with me into adulthood. So, at school I wore my hand me downs with pride, and in my teenage years when I first became responsible for buying my own clothes, made a point of shopping in charity shops and jumble sales because I felt so angry towards a system that, as I saw it, caused so much misery. Although I didn’t have any political or analytical terms to criticise it in my vocabulary I instinctively felt the injustice and stupidity of the industry.


Several years and many run ins with Diana later, I escaped the school system and enrolled at university. There my relationship with clothes became even more complex. I was enrolled on a course that encompassed theory, politics and literature, and learnt about the systems that fed the injustices that I had only experienced on a very micro level. Now I was all focused on the macro, and it blew my mind. I developed a political conscience, learning about feminism and other women’s complex relationships with the fashion industry. I read about capitalism and globalisation and was shocked to read about the depth of the very real suffering that goes into production of the latest unnecessary fashion trends. In the West we are mentally imprisoned by what Alain De Botton calls status anxiety and the compulsion to conform. That is bad enough, but on a more global scale there are sweat shop workers all over the world working 14 hour days with no breaks or rights, companies pillaging natural resources, animal experimentation, even widespread use of child labour. I just couldn’t see many good sides, and whatever you might say to me about a healthy consumer capitalist economy, I still don’t. To me the whole thing stinks. We are slaves to the brand, and whilst the wheels of the fashion machine keep turning, so do the cogs of human misery, poverty and injustice that keep the whole thing ticking over.

I am no economist. I don’t have all the answers to the global problems. I know there are some positives to the fashion industry, I’m not denying that shopping for clothes can be enjoyable, or give you a sense of creativity and pleasure. All I can say is, as far as I’m concerned, count me out. For me, clothes are mostly functional things that keep me dry and warm in winter and cool in summer. Sure, I have a couple of “best” outfits and clothes that are suitable for smart occasions and going out. I live in the real world, I do regular stuff and my wardrobe reflects that, it isn’t particularly outlandish or strange. But I mostly buy second hand and I buy what I like rather than what is fashionable. I don’t read beauty magazines, I believe (as the song goes), they only work to make you feel ugly. I don’t wear makeup, I like my own face. I haven’t shaved in years, yet my husband worships my body. I recycle and pass on things I’m not needing and gratefully receive it when people do the same for me. I don’t own anything branded, second hand or not, I believe I’m a person not a billboard. I don’t watch adverts so I hardly even know anymore what is cool and what isn’t. If all this is the most unbelievable mortifying thing you’ve ever heard then know this, I can’t tell you my life is perfect, but I do feel free. I have a thriving body image and a guilt free conscience and all this serves to make me a happier person in the long run.

My rejection of the fashion industry does not give me an easy life or the right to look down my nose at those who choose not to, the purpose of this article is not for me to guilt trip everyone into making the same choices as myself. But all the time I save not being a slave to fashion means that I actually have a lot more hours to do things that matter to me. As a small example: clothes shopping is a twice yearly rather than a weekly event for me, so that gives me so much more extra time, energy and space to read a book, take a walk in the rain, have fabulous sex or even write this article! Think of all the precious time in a week you give to the fashion industry, either by shopping, preening, talking, reading, or just thinking about it. Then think about what else you could achieve in that time. For me this is the whole crux of the issue. Any doubts I occasionally have concerning my choices and way of life are resolved by asking myself these two simple questions: are there not many more interesting and important things in the world than contemplating my own fingernails, hair, clothes, tan and makeup? If so, shouldn’t I, just possibly, be doing them?

(Due to be published on the 19th July on the womans collective website: 'Imagining Ourselves' in response to a call for articles about fashion and image around the world. I thought I'd give my blog readers first dibs!)

A Speck in Their Eye, A Log in Our Own

A bit of a rant:

I am absolutely sick of people tutting and ahhhhhhhing when watching the news or even in the streets, at Islamic women who wear hijab, especially in this country.

First of all this issue is complex. I am sick of this oppressed Islamic women bullshit. It is a gross oversimplification to simply assume that they are wearing these clothes against their “true” will (presumably the will that they are too scared to speak because their violent narrow minded husband will beat them for it). Oh, we think, they must look around at us westerners with such jealously, with our freedom to wear ‘whatever we want'. Not quite. These kind of smug “concerned” attitudes are just as racist as any other stereotypical line of thinking. The truth is that Muslim women often wear these clothes as a personal choice, and for many different reasons: to show solidarity with other Muslims, because they feel it is a personal and meaningful religious obligation, because it gives them an increased sense of security and freedom, because they feel it is the modest polite thing to wear or, god forbid, because they like the style of dress and countless other reasons.

Yes, some women are pressured, sometimes even forced to wear Hijab. When Hijab isn’t a free choice I do have a problem with it, I believe that everybody has a right to choose what they wear in the morning, and if a woman is threatened and feels restricted because of hijab then it is surely wrong. But, before we get on our western high horse that whinnies pity, why not take a look at our own children? I see girls around town aged 12 and 13 struggling to walk in a straight line and without pain on their faces because of the pressure our culture puts on its women to get used to a life of walking in heels, even at such an early age. Although it is often argued that these ‘heels’ are there to empower us to make us feel taller and stronger, in reality often have the effect of making us weaker, more vulnerable, less free – have you ever tried running in them, or walking a long distance? If worn over a long period of time, high heels cause structural damage to a woman’s skelto muscular system, and can often cause great problems with walking in later life. Yet, the cultural pressure to wear these shoes is enormous. Going shoe shopping, the ratio of heeled to flat shoes in many shops is probably about 20:1, girls who don’t conform are often called dowdy or unfashionable, and the advertising budget for shops that stock nearly only these styles of footwear must run into the billions, often only targeting teenage girls. Sure, we don’t say, ‘wear heels or we’ll cut your feet off’ but the fashion monster we have created for our girls and women to slavishly follow is often as strong in its dictatorship as any Shiite regime. All I’m trying to say is, before you feel pity for the woman all in black, look at yourself, or at your own girlfriend, wife or daughter and think: are we really that free?

Secondly

If I have to hear the phrase ‘When in Rome….’, accompanied by a meaningful eye roll aimed in the general direction of Muslims in this country who continue to speak in their mother tongue, socialise with each other and wear traditional dress I will scream! This phrase usually comes straight from the mouths of people who have an air-conditioned house in the heart of the expat community in Spain. There, they speak not a word of Spanish, eat fried breakfasts in English themed bars, walk around their small Spanish villages half naked scaring the locals half to death with their blistering lobster skin. If they don’t actually own a property themselves like this then they would certainly aspire to, or don’t object to English people behaving like this. There is such hypocrisy in our culture. Rich English people moan about the 'immigration problem' or 'Pakis taking over' whilst simultaneously swarming across the continent wrecking local economies and communities by buying up countless properties and behaving with a blatant disregard for local values, all in the name of a good tan and unlimited sangria.

The immigrants who come to Britain on the other hand are (usually) working hard at all the shit jobs we feel are beneath us. They are cleaning our hospitals, emptying our bins, sweeping our streets, even caring for our parents in old people’s homes. They are generally living in all the lovely substandard housing this country has to offer and are keeping our economy alive. Can we really say that our own countries migration patterns are having such a good effect on the local economies? True, we don’t always live in la la liberal land where Mr and Mrs Khan arrive in the street and invite the Smiths down the road over for a chicken bhuna where they bond over Manchester united and the state of youth today. Yes, there are integration problems. But this story has two sides and lets take a look at ourselves for a change, have we as the “Smiths’” made much of an effort with our new neighbours? Have we strove to educate ourselves about their heritage, languages, customs and their genuine beliefs? Have we gone around with a cake and an offer to help them settle into the neighbourhood? And really, as hosts and natives, isn’t this traditionally, sort of like, our duty? After all, aren’t we the ones who after our six month cruise around the world said: “I loved that little village in the mountains, the locals were so welcoming, so friendly. They would have done anything for us.’ Yes, we are happy to take and value other culture’s hospitality, but when it comes to welcoming people here, we are generally renowned for being lazy, antisocial and rude.

In a nutshell: I am sick of the hypocrisy in this country. I’m not saying the Islamic community doesn’t face issues and we don’t have the right to comment, but it is so easy to see the problems in other cultures without even stopping to criticise our own. Maybe, just maybe, we should shoot the pitiful high horse, renounce this fake moral high ground and concentrate on getting our own shit sorted before we point the finger.

A rare fashion post

I'm not really into clothes. Not really. In fact, I think you could reasonably put me in the bottom 1% of "people who are interested in clothes". I don't go clothes shopping, I don't dream of shoes or bags or hats. Most of my clothes are 10 years old and are usually hand me downs or presents from other people.

However, call me an overgrown adolescent, but I have a weakness for T shirts. T shirts with funny/clever or political slogans. T shirts to make you think. In your face, wear your heart on your sleeve (or tits) kind of things. Things to make people look and wonder and smile. Even, if I'm being very brave, things to piss people off.

I haven't bought any recently because we've been so short of cash for, say, the last seven years. But I stumbled across this site and I think it might be an incredibly dangerous find.

Just for starters:

This one

and

This one

and

This one

Gosh I feel dirty now. Must go an wash away all the consumer capitalist scum. Out damn spots goddamit!