The Emperor's New Clothes, or "Tattoo or Twattoo"

Regular readers, if there is such a thing as someone who reads this site that can be described in any way as “regular”, will know that I live in Manchester and so have the delights of the Trafford Centre to keep me distracted from the pain of modern reality. The Trafford Centre, for those who have never seen such a place, is a huge shopping centre/mall, full of assorted freaks and fashionistas. And me and TechnoScouse.

I have always been one to question fashion, and to strive to have my own personal sense of style. That sounds poncy. What I mean is I know what I like, and I like what I know. For many years this was the safe “t-shirt and jeans” combo that is still a faithful standby as I rapidly approach my post-late-mid-20s (I’m 29 in about 2 weeks). However I have also dabbled in somewhat chappish attire of waistcoats (never with jeans, unless you want to have comparisons with Justin Timberlake stamped on your forehead in your own blood), brogue-style trainers, and good-old button on braces. By and large, I wear what I think suits me and not what strangers and magazine editors tell me to wear.

Anyway. This isn’t about me. This is about other people as seen through my embittered and sardonic eyes. I just thought it was worth confessing my own sartorial sins before pointing the finger at someone else.

And today’s someone else is anyone wearing anything by Ed Hardy.

I have no idea if this designer’s works are internationally known, or perhaps the cancer has not yet spread beyond the British shores. If not, then hopefully this will be a warning beacon, informing others on a global scale of such over-priced shite before they suffer from sequin-induced blindness.

Ed Hardy apparel follows 2 simple rules:

Bright Colours Make Up For Crap Drawing Skills

Now I am no artist. I would describe myself as autistic before artistic. A sure-fire way to lift TechnoScouse’s spirits and probably reduce her to a dribbling heap of chuckles is for me to put pen to paper and try to draw even the most simple of pictures. I accept this lack of talent, and instead use words to paint a mental picture (rather than using a pen to paint a picture that just looks mental).

The designers at Ed Hardy, on the other hand, seem to have been recruited from the local happy-bus of colour-blind freaks as part of some form of art therapy workshop. Never have I known people to pay good money (see below) for pictures that look like they have been drawn by the backwards kid in a class of 7 year olds, who has no idea what the picture is meant to be of.

For example, let us look at the skull. If we are to believe the geniuses at Ed Hardy, then the human skull is so distorted and misshapen that John Merrick would take the piss.

Alternatively let us look at the majestic tiger (here looking more like a ginger cat from the depths of a nuclear reactor, and spanked round the face with a spade). I personally would rather walk round with Napoleon Dynamite’s Liger on my t-shirt than one of these technicolour abominations!

The brand tries to defend the lack of artistic talent by following the trend of retro tattoo design, such as pin-up girls and the like. The difference is though that if you had a picture this bad permanently etched into your skin, observers would assume that it had been drawn by your loving cellmate during a long incarceration in prison. Would you want to look like you were the bitch of a guy that can’t draw a for shit? No, I didn’t think so, so don’t wear a pair of jeans that look even worse.

Glitter is Good

As I saunter through the walkways of shopping centres, I am now intermittently dazzled by a spectrum of colours that makes me think that I’ve either taken LSD by mistake, or I’m being pissed on by a My Little Pony. These virtual laser-light shows are because of Ed Hardy t-shirts that are covered in more sequins than Liberace’s codpiece! While certain animals such as tropical fish have developed shiny skins to reflect light and dazzle potential predators, I don’t think that the Neon Tetra is a role model if you want to avoid getting punched in the chops for looking like a pillock.

Remember- the only people who don’t get beaten up for wearing sequins are 1980s WWF wrestlers. Before parting with your money, just ask yourself “Am I Macho Man Randy Savage?” If not, then slowly put the t-shirt back where you found it, and run away before the shop assistant spots you.

My final complaint, and this is often true of fashion, is that this crap is so painfully overpriced. For some reason, wearing a holographic t-shirt of a gay weasel with a birth defect becomes socially acceptable if you’ve paid £120 for the pleasure. If these things were going for £15 at Asda, then people would wisely stay away for fear of looking likesome rancid bastard’s wiped their nose all over your pants.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 24th, 2009 at 3:37 am and is filed under Rants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.