Horrific trends in fashion

Coloured, plastic clogs

Ben says: Feet are revolting. As a species, we should to do everything possible to cover these calloused, hard-skinned appendages with footwear that makes us appear hot; footwear that makes us forget feet even exist.

But footwear often goes wrong and can make feet—indeed the whole body—supremely unattractive. For instance: a few years ago, straight men—following the lead of their misguided homosexual brethren—started wearing leather slides. The trend was both alarming and foul, but soon disappeared. But ahoy! Here comes the next abomination in footwear, a certain brand of reptile-named coloured sandals, growing in popularity for its “legendary comfort status”. Admittedly, they look adorable on the children and the over-50s. Out of everyone, those people have a basic right to podiatric comfort and brightly-coloured whimsy. For the rest of us, though, wearing these sandals say: “Hello! I have given up! Not only on my looks, but on life! Because now, I choose to wear the shoes of a clown, which make me look like Barney.”

Mia says: No. And I’ve been over this before. We keep giving babies and old people carte blanche to remain jobless, crap their pants and fart in cars; now Ben happily extends them free rein to wear fluorescent, plastic clogs. It’s true; a foot is as repulsive as a quivering butt or a rogue ball. But do we give men the license to house their ball-sack in a little plastic cage? Do we fashion coloured plastic atlaspheres, butt-size, and say, “Hey, idiots, forget pants, just strap this butt guard to your arse”? No. My world is not richer for having glimpsed your crusty trotters any more than it is for spotting crack, one. Two, I cannot accept a fluorescent shoe. “But, hey. I like them.” So do whatever the fuck you want! Wear a bone in your hair; wear a meat pie in your groin! I’m so over it. Ben, this is what you get with a gun-less society.

Scrotum-hugging denim

Ben says: As a rake-thin guy with a 28-inch waist and inverted ass, I’m celebrating the current resurgence of skinny-legged jeans. It’s like God has finally relented and said to me, “Benjamin? You can be a real boy now. You can now wear pants.” I approve of the trend on an aesthetic level, too. Skinny jeans makes for welcome relief from the denim parachutes everyone wore over their Granny May’s novelty boxers ten years ago. However, some of you guys—and it is mostly guys—are ruining the style. Let’s establish ground rules. When your jeans are so tight they resemble leggings—the lycra ones suburban mothers buy from K-mart—you should stop. When it looks like you’ve got another set of eyeballs bursting out of your crotch, stop. And think of your posture. There’s no need to cripple yourselves, people. And there’s no need to look like a fucking emo stork.

Mia says: Enough. This is not UK Vogue , and you are not Kate Moss, though clearly everyone wishes they were. I accept that Moss is hot for an emaciated drug addict, but then I wouldn’t be appropriating Moss’ trademark “skinny leg jeans” any sooner than I would be appropriating pig skin. This is not a question of comfort; this is not a license to fire your rump into a plastic atlasphere. This is a reminder not to thrust your finger into an electric pencil sharpener, or to plunge your face into a bidet or to drive your arse into teacup. This is not a metaphor; this is my point. Unless you’re Nick Cave, Benjamin Law or Christiane F—unless your arse literally slots into the mouth of a cup—these pants are illegal. Move on.

See also: other rants co-authored by Benjamin Law and Mia Timpano
“You can shut the fuck up now”
“Snowy vs Brain”

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