Monday, August 24, 2009

On Looking Fabulous or Being Hot

There is a choice that faces those of us who live for the night.  Hand-on-hip and mirror-gazing, we must search our souls for the answer to the eternal question: Do I wanna to look Fabulous tonight or do I wanna look Hot? 

At first it may seem that looking fuckable and looking dateable are not mutually exclusive. Indeed, it is possible to mesh the two ideas.  It is my belief however, that this is best left to those that have handbags named after them or have at least one Rock Star in their lineage.  For us peasants, there is no middle ground.  We need to be commited to our look, whether it be an all singing, all dancing virtual Christmas tree of an outfit or a savagely simple tee with a flattering Jean.  

When deciding which road to take there is something you must consider.  When each of us popped out of our mummies Bat Cave and into this cruel, cruel world we were dressed in nothing but a glunky coat of slippery juices.  For the next bliss filled few years, it was perfectly acceptable for us to tear about the playpen with only the remnants of a Raspberry Popsicle covering us.  Come the age of five though, the toddler flesh-fest is suddenly brought to a dramatic halt, and our frisky, nubile bodies are stuffed into all manner of hideously restrictive Department store fare.  

It makes sense then, that if society insists that our dangly and sagging bits are to be covered, that we cover them in something divine.  When you get down to the bones of it, anyone can be hot enough to pick up.  With a sunbed loyalty card, a gym membership, a talented hairdresser and the right plastic surgeon, there's not much of a trick to it.  Just ask Tara Reid.  To look Jaw-dropping, crowd-staring off-the-chain Filthily Fabulous is another matter.  Nothing quite beats wearing a kaleidoscope coloured 60's De la Renta with Ra-Ra green fringed moccasins and dancing till dawn while everyone else is crying with boredom in their American Apparel and wishing the photographer would notice them.

It's my advice that you celebrate genius in what you wear.  There is no medium more affective or ideal for the placement of Art than the human body.  If we are to be subjected to the absurdity and slog of living,  then Goddamn it, I wanna be doing it in a 1930's sequined dinner jacket with a Pocahontas feel and Cartier-copy tiger rings.....