I pop periodically into Urban Outfitters to try on Cheap Monday striped jeans. I go in, I slip them on and proceed to wince at the awful distorted shape my thighs take on and wonder how they manage to magically make my reasonably slim legs appear fat and misshapen. I leave the shop chastising myself for even thinking that I could pull these off.
Then several months later I'll hark back to the 80's when I lived in my striped jeans and I think, "Oh how I loved those jeans. And I reckon I looked pretty damn good!". I seem to forget that that was 17 years ago and I was 3 stone lighter. But time has a funny habit of blinding you to these universal truths, and so every 3 months I find myself back in the changing rooms at UO trying on the striped jeans and wincing at my reflection.
It's like some kind of sartorial Groundhog Day. In fact it's a lot like Pressure. Pressure is a legendary techno club night here in Glasgow held in the Arches.
The people who run the club are very dear friends of the Kingdom and the calibre of guests they have on a monthly basis, year in year out, is outstanding. I DJ for the (unofficial) pre-club in the cafe/bar area of the venue. I say unofficial because technically it's just meant to be a DJ in a bar on a Friday night playing nice house tunes, but many of the people who come are going to Pressure, so rather than playing nice, girly house music which won't get them in the mood for their night, I opt to reflect what's happening in the club later, so it's a record box of dirty acid and techno mayhem.
Every month I proceed to rip the arse right out of it, much to the fear and shock of the occasional poor souls who happen to wander in off the street looking for a nice quiet venue. Move along people! Nothing but an electronic assault to hear here!
Pressure is a HUGE venue and whilst the music can indeed be amazing (Jeff Mills and Ben Simms last month for example), many of the punters are, um, how shall we say.... total rockets! Wee guys with a penchant for taking off their tops and chewing their faces due to an inherent inability to handle the copious amounts of drugs they consume. It ain't pretty.
Queen Marie and I will see someone on the bill we really want to hear, so we get a wee guest list together for ourselves and some chums. We then nip through after I've DJed and as soon as we are right in the amongst the throng we immediately think to ourselves "Fucking hell! What were we thinking! Some of these folk are total rockets!" and promptly press ourselves into a dark corner vowing never to step foot in the place again. Then several months later we find ourselves seeing someone good on the bill and thinking, "You know what? It's not really that bad is it? I think we just caught folk on a bad night". And so it goes on again. Back in the club, back against the wall, vowing never to do it again. Well, striped jeans are alot like Pressure for me.
Maybe my problem is I never try the striped jeans on with heels. I always have my old Converse on whenever I am doing a bit of traipsing around town. And as can be seen by the model here, they aren't very flattering with flats. Yup, maybe that's where I'm going wrong. Or maybe they are just one of fashions many cruel jokes.
Yet something in me still yearns for a pair of striped trews. In my head I'd have those peppermint style thick black and white numbers. I of course come to my senses when I realise I run the very real risk of looking like the wayward 5th member of Christian heavy metal band Stryper. Never a good look.
I'm sure there are some fabulously lithe 17 year olds out their rocking their striped jeans, much like I did 17 years ago. But alas I feel this is one look I shall have to accept will remain on the shelf for me.
I have no desire to look like an old mint humbug. Shame.
Queen Michelle
