It’s that time of year when TV is filling up with its annual Christmas adstravaganza. Frenetic ads for perfumes, cars, clothing catalogues and CD-games that everyone is assured they must have if they hope to be anyone this Christmas.
My principle observation on all of this is that I never became assimilated into the ‘fashion’ thing. Take shoes, for example! I am perpetually bewildered by the oohs and aaahs dedicated by many people to skinny slivers of leather with heels like knives. Shoes, especially the ‘FM’ variety, just leave me thinking what the…? I genuinely don’t get it. I mean… they’re shoes… they keep your feet warm and stop them getting splinters.
This is not an age thing. I have never ‘got’ shoes, not even when I was 16. Or 26. I do try now and then. I have bought frivolous footwear for a special occasion, worn them once, felt weird in them, put them back in the box and stowed them on top of the wardrobe.
Not a confession that comes as any kind of surprise to anyone that has ever the slightest of passing acquaintances with me. If I were a cartoon character I’d probably be more Pigpen than Jessica Rabbit – even with my red hair!
I have reached the conclusion that I lack some elusive fashion gene that imbues normal folks with that inbuilt ability to reach anything approaching understanding of what is hot and what is not; a fact that occasionally bothered me. But, now that I am rapidly approaching purple-hat status, and realising I am unlikely to change, I shall remain the Ad-Man’s nightmare; completely unaffected by their flashing lights and resisting their frantic exhortations to buy, buy, buy!
Except maybe for books. But that is another obsession entirely…