Oh Dear.I have go to a wedding on Wednesday, my cousin’s. I’m unimpressed by the prospect. Being in the company of that many people that I’m related to makes me uneasy. I prefer to keep my distance.
But this story isn’t about the wedding; this story is about my despairing of humanity.
I asked my boyfriend to come with me to get a new dress. Not something that I’d usually do. If I really must go shopping I’d much rather go alone to get it over with as soon as possible. But we had lunch & visited two of my favourite boutiques. I bought two dresses in the end (& two parts of shoes). Beautiful fifties style flouncy girly creations that make me feel happy to be alive.
But this story isn’t about the dresses; this story is about my despairing of humanity.
Belfast was crawling with hipsters. They were everywhere. Wikipedia describes hipsters as having “a varied non-mainstream fashion sensibility, and alternative lifestyle”. Hmmm. They were e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e.
The girls all with backcombed hair & too much eye makeup, wearing short-short-shorts with thick black tights & plimsolls. The boys poured into skinny jeans, or worse jeggings. *shudders*, & old man cardigans, sporting copstash standard moustaches. Well all except one, he wore a dali. I couldn’t help but be impressed if I’m honest.
But this story isn’t even about the hipsters; this story is about “Hammer pants”.
Either brightly coloured (as above), or multicoloured. I counted nine girls wearing them during the two hours we were in town.
Why? Can someone please tell me why? Surely only MC Hammer can pull these off, no?
Perhaps this whole story was a excuse to post “U can’t touch this”.