Fashions
I find it fascinating looking at the different fashions. There is a real drive to fit in and yet be an individual; to create a style of our own. As a teacher I saw all these hairstyles and fashions come and go. Some were great and some very iffy.
They are all statements. They define the relationship to the establishment but more importantly they shriek out about our availability to the opposite sex. Fashion is biology. It’s the plumage of the bird in full flush of testosterone/oestrogen-driven frenzy.
My own style and fashion started up in 1962 at the age of thirteen. I went to the cinema with my friends Dave and Mutt and we hooked up with three girls. My girl was a dainty, exceedingly pretty heartbreaker of a French girl by the name of Danielle. At that time my idea of sartorial elegance ran to a plaid shirt, jeans and my favourite plimsoles, complete with ragged holes. Danielle was not impressed but none the less made a date to see me again. I headed off to town to sort out a suitable style. I bought myself a white polo-neck T-shirt, a denim shirt with button-down collar, hipster jeans with wide belt and some chisel-toe boots.
I liked it.
Danielle liked it too. Though she led me quite a chase.
I favoured skin-tight hipsters and button-down collars for quite a while. In France I bought a great grey denim shirt with pockets, lapels and buttons that were very different.
I moved on to Cuban-heeled Chelsea boots with a seam down the middle or beige suede desert boots.
School took a dim view of my tight low-cut trousers and boots and sent me home.
By the mid-sixties I had moved on to wide flared trousers. I wore a leather flying jacket and fur-lined motor-bike boots.
The school took a dim view of these too and sent me home.
I found that quite ironic. I was sent home for having trousers that were too narrow and trousers that were too broad.
We had regular assemblies to check uniform. The girls had to kneel and have their skirts measures. More than a few inches above the knee and they were sent home. The task of measuring was very popular.
There was a lot of hitching down on the way into assembly and hitching back up on the way out. The boys had the width of their trousers measured. That was not quite so popular a task.
It was a wonder any of us received an education.
By the late sixties I was wearing flared jeans with patches that I sewed on myself, bright jumpers and coloured shirts.
Liz then started making my clothes and I was wearing bright tunics made from colourful Indian materials, hand-knitted sweaters and a long sheep-skin coat.
I loved all that colour and ethnic material. It shouted out that I wasn’t part of all that greedy, selfish establishment.
I was doing it my way.
Hahaha! Yeah, it is funny! I loved all the big flared jean hipsters in mid 60s and paisley material. I never followed fashion after that. Still love Hawaiian clothes, clothes from India. I don’t wear the hipsters they are wearing now. Just pretty much dress comfortably. Comfortable shoes too.
Fun little anecdote, Opher. Thanks.
Cheers Mary. I’m enjoying writing these little pieces. It’s like thinking back to fond memories.
Oh yeah, and long Indian print dresses. They are back. All the clothes from back then are back, only really expensive!
Back then we used to make or adapt things. I rarely bought anything. They were fun times. Very creative, colourful and optimistic.
Yes, colorful days. I remember patching jeans so much they weren’t denim anymore.
And sewing the triangles into the legs to make them flares, and fraying out the bottoms to form a fringe.
What happened to the French girl?
She was lovely but I think she knew it. She played me along for a while then she broke it off. It never really got going.
Reblogged this on Opher's World and commented:
Fashion is strange.
I worked in the warehouse at Marks & Spencer’s for a few lost years . Us warehouse men were above the bustle and busyness of the shop floor unpacking and storing the incoming food and clothing. Occasionally we were called to the shop floor to measure the inside leg of a gentleman trouser purchaser a job that young sales ladies could not be expected to perform.
Kertsen – that is quite a strange tale. What a task.
Yes some warehouse men declined, although we are all given training, after all it would not be good to grab a gentleman by the balls. I found the whole thing quite amusing and noticed I had a female audience of giggling shop assistants watching me. It was my only taste of fame in an otherwise mundane life.
I can just picture it Kersten.
It’s so interesting how fashion changes over the years.
Mine doesn’t. I just change inside it.
Haha that’s great! And you can save money on clothing!
And haircuts!
And no pictures of these great threads, Opher?
I think there are some pictures in my archives John. We didn’t have too many pictures back then.
Chisel toes, yes! I got winklepickers once, and ended up with a bunion.
Kipper ties, anyone?
Cuban-heeled chelsea boots with chisel toes – no kipper ties tough.