wtffashionshark

Readers,

Is it just me or is David Cameron morphing into Fred Flintstone? I mean, he never had any cheekbones to speak of, but …

It will not be long before Dave will be running about shouting “Yabba Dabba Doo” . This week  he informed Britain’s European partners that he will be demanding negotiations to decrease our obligations, and that he is calling to have a referendum, although not before the next election, (due in June 2015) in which the British people will be asked something along the lines of “Do you want to tell those thieving foreigners to sod off and go it alone like in the old days of dear old Blighty up against the Hun or shall we stay and let loads of them come over here and take our womenfolk and our benefits?”. And the chances that the answer will say Yes! You see, John Donne may have said “No Man is an Island” but that metaphysical stuff cuts no ice these days. Brits have an island mentality. They resent being told what to do by Europe. They do not like the fact that European law has imposed stuff like Human Rights (which has nothing to do with the EU) and European laws which affect employment (you know, shocking stuff like laws against discrimination). Heaven forfend – equal rights! They worry about foreigners coming in taking their jobs, even though the Brits themselves do not want to do them. Cameron is careering down this path to pacify his back benchers, some of whom are the educated, Home  Counties equivalent of the characters with bad teeth in Deliverance (but in suits and Old Etonian ties instead of dungarees). They want to do to him what the hillbillies did to Ned Beatty. As a result, he is risking an outcome which he does not want and which depends on getting a deal which he may well not get. So we have have years of internal, financial and diplomatic confusion ahead. This should have been a gift for Ed Milliband, but he has managed to pluck defeat from the jaws of victory. No sooner had Ed told the Commons that Labour did not want a referendum than his spin doctors were busy explaining that what he meant was that it all needed to be discussed. Clearly, his off-the-cuff answer caught his deputy, pudding-bowl-coiffed  Harriet Harman, quite by surprise and she looked as if she had been shot full of Novocaine. Watch this space. It is going to be a bumpy ride….

Elsewhere, there were all sorts of ghastly goings-on going on at the National Television Awards 2013 where somebodies and nobodies various made a spectacle of themselves because they did not observe the first rule of dressing, namely to look in the mirror (both front views and rear views) before leaving home. For example, here is Kimberley Walsh of Girls Aloud (soon to be Girls Silent as they are splitting up) in a bluey/grey thing by German designers Unrath & Strano, both of whom should be sent to bed without their bratwurst.

Kimberley’s rendition of One Day I’ll Fly Away at the NTAs was, alas, not well received. As she warbled her way through the song in a variety of keys, all of them off, those listening also wanted to fly away there and then.  It was like hearing your nan singing at the Home for the Terminally Bewildered Christmas Party Karaoke (first prize, a new set of teeth and a framed photo of the Royal Family). As for the slithery looking dress, the lacy inserts make Kimberley appear to have a nasty rash, the bodice is tacky and the badly cut skirt is too tight and showing the slip. WTF also deplores the moulded tits and the puffed shoulders. Not to put too fine a point on it, it is a stinker.

Here is Z List non-entity Jessica Wright off TOWIE also attending the NTAs.

Vulgar. Orange. Plastic. Tight. No knickers. Ghastly.

As you know, WTF is obsessed with Nancy dell’Olio, mainly because she persists in popping up in public in preposterous outfits. Here she is at something or other (does it matter as long as there is a drink going and a photo in the paper?) in a black lace onesie.

WTF has a question. Actually, she has a number of questions, like why doesn’t Nancy bugger off and get a job? Why does she get invited everywhere?  Why are her eyebrows brown when her hair is deepest raven black? But the principal question is why are her trousers 12 inches too long? No really, it is deeply puzzling. Has she shrunk? Did she borrow them from a giant? Even if she has kicked off her high heels, she would have needed circus stilts to wear those trousers. How does she dance? Or walk? But from the back, it is much, much worse. Deep breath now….

 It has long been one of the hazards of walking along a public thoroughfare that some horrible hairy-arsed builder is bent over a shovel (or more likely, a mug of tea and a cigarette) showing his bum crack to all and sundry. It is enough to give you agoraphobia. Nancy’s arse is not hairy, but a bum crack is a bum crack. We neither need nor want to see it, whether peeping out from acrylic or from a black lace ensemble. Ugh.

This is actress Amanda Greer at the Creative Coalition Inauguration Ball.

It is at times like this that WTF starts to doubt her own sanity. How can this be? Why on earth would any woman want to wear this? It patently does not fit her . It makes her look stunted. Red lace is always cheap-looking, even when it costs a fortune, but this ill-fitting, peek-a-boo nastiness takes cheap-looking to subterranean depths accessible only by submarine. The frothy train, white gloves and tarty sandals would be spurned by a cut-price Saigon showgirl. Just. Really. Bad.

We now go upmarket, except that the results are no better. This is designer Thom Browne, he who designed the  lovely coat Michelle Obama wore at the Swearing In Ceremony on Monday. Sadly, Thom has fallen into the category of Designers Who Need To See a Doctor.

Thom’s trousers are having an argument with his ankles. There also seems to have been some horrible disaster around the crotch department which resembles an elephant’s vagina, not a look of choice on anyone, let alone a male fashionista. On a different note, older readers will remember Don Johnson in Miami Vice running about in loafers and no socks. However (i) Florida is warm (ii) Don was wearing lightweight whites and pastels and (iii)  loafers are a very different proposition from black lace-up brogues. Do not get WTF started on the knitted waistcoat….  At least Thom is not sporting one of the nonsensical outfits he featured at Paris Fashion Week, of which this thing was the worst.

This seems designed for Mr. Toad. Michelle Obama had a lucky escape.

And now be prepared to embrace love in its purest form. Never mind Romeo and Juliet, Abelard and Eloise, Kimye and Kate and William. This is the real deal.  I refer to Katie Price, Britain’s best known titsy pin-up, and her third husband, builder and part time stripper Kieran Hayler. They have just got married in the Bahamas after a whirlwind 6 week courtship. Here is the blushing bride on a sunlit beach following the ceremony.

It seems that Katie’s psychic told her that her next husband would be called Kevin and Kieran seemed close enough. “You say Kieran and I say Husband…”  Katie is addicted to getting married. Why not, as the bill is usually picked up by some trashy periodical, in this case The Sun. In fact, WTF believes that one of the reasons her second marriage to cross-dressing Alex Reid went down the Swanee is that it was a modest affair in Las Vegas with no cameras and no pay-day. This one was also a romantic, intimate affair,  just the happy couple, her mum,  a couple of pals and a posse of journalists and photographers. Katie is upset that the hotel butler took her for a porn star. For shame. Just because she has a tattoo and huge plastic tits and has been botoxed to death and was wearing a wedding dress with massive cleavage and a split skirt flashing her tattoo?  Juliet did not have time to get a “Romeo, Romeo” tattoo, given that they only knew each other for 24 hours altogether  before being separated for ever. However, WTF is sure she would otherwise have beaten a path down to the nearest tattoo parlour in Verona.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Hit the comment button with your thoughts. Be good.