Jolly Good Show

I’m sure you’re all fully expecting me to write today’s post about the Olympics and the closing ceremony. How proud I am of our medal total. How the closing ceremony was a triumphant poke in the eye to all those who ever said English music was but a shadow in the limelight of the international music scene. How the Olympics just showed that everyone finally seems to agree that Britain is actually Great. And aren’t we all rather jolly pleased chaps and chapesses about how bally well the whole thing turned out? Well yes, that’s all true and I want to say all those things (and I want to say it in that posh fake English accent too). But what I really want to discuss is Brian May’s outfit.

Long coat tails billowing out behind him, hair billowing out above, to the sides, behind and beyond him, legs akimbo tearing up that axe, a British icon from the top of his bouffed to within an inch of his life head to the tip of his tapping toe. There is no mistaking Brian May in a crowd. And yes, he was performing, but you can guarantee his everyday, chilling out around the mansion, popping down to Tesco Metro for a pint of milk and a bottle of Head and Shoulders look isn’t that far from his stage outfit. But he can pull it off. Because he’s Brian May. And I am saddened to admit that if I actually saw someone walking down the street with that coat and that hair, I would wonder exactly what he had in his pockets, and try not to get too close, lest a stray three foot long grey hair got attached to my own coat (us long haired lot, we moult. A lot). There would be kids pointing, adults turning the other way and likely some young hooligan would throw an apple at his head for being a freak. Because really, as a nation, and maybe as a race in general, we are not very accepting of people looking different are we?

I couldn’t bear the ex’s “Dad” trainers. Absolutely despised them (yet he wore them tirelessly, surely just to piss me off). I would like to go out with someone with nice beat up All Stars or, er… yeah nice beat up All Stars please. Because to be fair on men (and most of them have dodgy fashion sense anyway) their options are limited; All Stars, Dad trainers or banana shoes (most men’s feet are massive anyway, why do they see the need to highlight and exaggerate it, are they scared they might fall over without an extra 6 inches of empty leather at the end of their toes?), and very little in between. I’d like to say that I would embrace any man for wearing something different, but it would be with a pursed lip and an upturned nose that I would grudgingly accepted the dad trainers and/or banana shoes back into my life.

But it works both ways. I know that I am being judged for what I wear, we all are. And I wish it wasn’t so. I would love to go out wearing Jessie J’s sequin leotard (actually if I’m really honest, and choosing my ultimate would-give-my-right-arm-to-be-able-to-actually-wear-in-the-street-without-getting-arrested-for-indecency-or-beaten-up-for-being-a-knob outfit, it would be Toy Story 3 Barbie’s electric blue leotard, skinny belt and stripey legwarmers combo – fashion genius) but only celebrities and/or performers are really allowed to dress like that, aren’t they?

Most of us, the 90% of us that are not incredibly brave or incredible famous, just want to fit in and rarely venture too far out of our fashion comfort zone.

But maybe we need to push the boundaries a bit, take a tip from our kids for instance. Son One went through a phase (all boys do) of refusing to wear anything except his Buzz Lightyear costume. Usually with a plastic fly swat as a rather bizarre accessory (which he would stick out of the trolley, purposely knocking over precarious displays of baked beans or swiping away an entire shelf of white sliced). He thought he looked cool. No, he didn’t think it, he knew it. Just like the celebs and just like those brave enough to step outside the fashion norm.

I wish we lived in a more forgiving and accepting society. I wish we didn’t judge people for what they wore. And I really, really wish I knew where I could get my hands on an adult size Barbie leotard, I think I would love it so much I would happily pop to Tescos in it, and let them chuck apples at me. At least I know I would look cool.