Suits you sir, part II...

Lets all hold hands now, all hold hands, thats right, don't break the circle, someone put that Marc Bolan song on the record player, all hold hands, close our eyes and chant "1973, 1973, 1973, 19....."

There, here we are back in 1973, the teenage acne'yed JerryChicken is doing his O levels this year but more importantly he is exactly the right size to be a "standard" male model mannequin.

What is the "standard" size for a male mannequin in the UK ?

I don't know, but I do know that when I was 16 years old I was the "standard" size for the UK tailoring industry to hang clothes on me.

How do I know ?

Cyril over the road told my dad it was so.

Let me explain.

Cyril over the road was a tailor, a time-served tailor who had worked his way up to be the manager of a rather large Leeds based tailoring company in the days when Leeds was the centre of the UK for off-the-peg tailored clothes.

Cyril was quite a big shot in his company and was in charge of "next years fashions", part of his job being to attend all sorts of trade shows the length and breadth of the country showing off his company portfolio to retailers making ready for next years clothing stock.

Cyril and our dad had a nice little sideline going in suit lengths, Cyril would "find" the odd suit length lying around at work that no-one seemed to want or need and our dad would find a buyer for it and they'd pocket the proceeds , and then pocket further proceeds when the buyer asked "this is all well and good but what the hell do I do with a suit length, who will make me a suit from this rather expensive suit length" and of course our dad would recite his favourite saying "well, its yoru lucky day, for I know just the right person..." and Cyril would get the job of making up the suit, working late into the night in his garage which he had converted into a small one man tailoring factory.

And then one day in 1973 Cyril wandered over the road and mentioned to our dad that I was just about the right size now, just about mannequin size, just right to buy the trade fair samples after Cyril had finished displaying them to the retailers.

And so I became the most trendy kid in our school.

Not content with the constant quest to keep up with this years fashions, I was turning up at school wearing next years fashions and none were more amazed than me when Cyril handed me a pair of Oxford Bags one day.

Oxford Bags were the big trouser craze of 1974, but I wore them to school in 1973, Prince of Wales check they were, flared all the way down the leg with huge turnups at the bottom - everyone at school was in awe for you could not yet buy them in the shops - I was "the Face", the one to follow, and they became even more in awe when I turned up one day in another pair of Oxford Bags in a tartan pattern.

I must have looked a right twat and fortunately there are no photographic records.

There was however one problem with wearing mannequin trousers.

When tailoring company's make clothing for the trade show mannequins they want to make their product look as smooth as possible, smooth legs, smooth hips, no protrusions, no lumps and bumps...

...and so they don't make them with any pockets.

...and the male genitillia area isn't too spacious either.

...so I minced my way through two years at school, trendsetter I was, comfortable when I sat down I was not, many was the time that I scrunched my newly aquired tackle when sitting on hard school chairs, you females may laugh but there are tears in the eyes of most males who read this paragraph as they recall the days when sitting down suddenly has left them with an empty scrotum and gonads in the "undercarriage up" location.

For two years I was mannequin size and for two years I was our schools dedicated follower of fashion, no, not a follower, a dedicated predictor of fashion until in my 18th year beer took its toll and my waist size went up one and Cyril sadly went back across the road with a pair of next years trousers unsold.

However a year later, and as John Travolta and "Saturday Night Fever" broke onto an unsuspecting and as yet disco-less world then Cyril noticed that our Ned was now the right size to fit the male mannequins garb, unfortunately for our Ned the first thing that Cyril brought over the road was a full three piece suit - in white, in best John Travolta stylee - oh how we laughed when he wore it just the once to go to The Fox in - our dad later sold it to a club turn of his aquaintance.

Of course you look attractive dear,

The fashion industry.
Specifically the fashion industry for women.

How depressingly stupid is it ?

Two news items today on the fashion industry, both relating more towards the fashion industry for women than men - because as we all know your average Joe in the street cares about fashion almost as much as he worries about whether or not he washed the breakfast dishes this morning.

The first story relates to the almost compulsory use of diet pills and other methods of reducing your weight down to your birth weight which has been well publicised for several years in the fashion model industry.

But now its endemic in women in general - apparently.

According to Closer magazine, 55% of women in the UK have used diet pills to reduce their weight.

Shocking.

But then of course you read the survey a little more and realise that its actually 55% of the women surveyed and when you read to the bottom of the article you learn that the survey was carried out on a total of 1230 women - but still, and even given that its a survey of celebrity obsessed women (Why would they buy "Closer" if not) then its still an eyebrow raiser.

But why does it happen ?

Who was it that dictated some years ago that catwalk models looked best when carrying no more than six stones of flesh vaguely hanging off their bones ?

Do clothing designers really think that the best showcase for their next seasons designs - on which hang their route to fame and fortune - is a feeble, barely standing, exploited young girl who's sexual development has almost certainly been halted and possibly even destroyed, by the belief that taking horse drugs will make them desirable ?

And how worrying is it when that belief spreads from a narcissistic, egocentric, mercenary industry to females in general ?

And it has to be said that it is mainly females that it affects, the fashion industry is geared up for females, males are almost totally ignored in the self-indulgent rush for perceived beauty - walk into any high street clothing store and you'll see the same designs for men on display year in year out, the same suits, jackets. coats, shirts, the same colours, the same cut, the same accessories - men never change their clothing habits and do not require a horde of designer names to tell them what their winter wardrobe should be this year - beacuse its going to be the same winter wardrobe as last year - and thats OK by men.

Its different for women though.

Each year they need to be told what colour is "in" this year, they need to be told how long the skirts should be this year, pencil cut or flared, high waistline or hanging off your hips , worn with tailored jackets or cardigans, accessorised with what, and most importantly, what is "this years black" ?

Apparently "this years black" is grey, and its causing problems for retailers.

You see, for various reasons, women don't want to buy grey. Men have been buying grey since the dawn of time, men are comfortable in grey, it works.

Women don't like grey and the designers who six months ago decided that it would be grey this winter are now wondering if any of their ranges will sell, or rather they are wondering if any of their ranges will sell at the hugely inflated high street prices or whether they are going to have to flog them off at cost before going away and panic buying some short runs of clothing in more gaudy colours.


I confess to understanding nothing of this fashion business.

I live in a house with a fashion concious wife and two daughters aged 18 and 14 for whom their clothing choice each morning can take upwards of an hour and certainly nothing like the ten seconds that I take.

Last night as my wife came downstairs, on her way out to a night out with the girls, and having raided the 18 year olds wardrobe, I casually asked her if she was supposed to be wearing that black belt just under her ribcage rather than on her waist where I foolishly believed that belts should be worn - ie they are for keeping your pants up.

I cannot describe the withering look that all three females gave to me, its the sort of look that they give Jake the dog on the rare occasions when he is caught short through the night and does a whoopsie on the carpet - its the sort of look that says, "shut-up male creature, you know nothing".

And indeed I don't.