Polly Vernon
OH, LET ME TELL YOU about my boots! My boots, my boots, my brand-new boots! They are black and flat and butch, their soles are chunkily ridged and their eyelets? Matte! They are fashion’s interpretation of the DM (a design I admire – but find too bulbous of toe to wear in its purest form) and they are to be matched with otherwise delicate lady pieces (flouncy blouses, prissy cigarettecut jeans, wispy girly midi-frocks and so forth) so as to simultaneously call to mind Villanelle in Killing Eve (specific ref, the pink frothy frock shot of season one) and Sigourney Weaver in Alien.
I love them. I love them. I love them. My boyfriend does not.
Him on beholding them (and me, in them) for the first time: ‘Were they freebies?’ – a deceptively mild response I could nonetheless immediately translate as: ‘I really hope you didn’t pay for them.’
Way to kill a fashion buzz, you lil’ bitch, I replied, before having him shot.
Ahhhh, I didn’t. Rather, I gave him a lecture on the importance of respecting the fashion choices of others in general, and me in particular, because, a) I live with him, could make things kinda awks if he does not, and b) I know how to dress. I’m not sure of many things; but clothes? Clothes, I know.
I left him in quiet contemplation of What He Had Done, then embarked upon a deep meaningful chat with myself regarding UFJOS: the Unsolicited Fashion Judgements of Others. The uncomprehending brows that greet the debut of a bold new look. The snidey:
‘Is that fashionable now, then?’s. The patronisingly snarky: ‘Gosh! Aren’t you brave?’s. The ‘Well, you like it, so that’s what counts!’s.
Over the years, I’ve been subject to many, many UFJOS, and have come to realise they’re the inevitable consequence of one being just a smidge ahead of the crowd in terms of boots, jeans, frocks, tops, socks with sandals, double leather, quadruple denim, and so forth.
All an UFJO ever actually means is: ‘You’re already wearing that, yet I had no idea it was even a Thing and why didn’t I? Why? And should I try it? But what if
I look ridic? And I bet I’m already too late anyway and oh God, oh God, oh God, fashion scares me!’, all of which, of course, is their problem – not mine.
The best response to any UFJO is: ‘Darling, you’re going to have to remind me when I asked for your opinion or gave the faintest impression I cared for your approval – because: how funny! It’s plain slipped my mind!’, followed by a slow-mo courtesy flounce designed to give them adequate time to check you out some more, and thus expedite their catch-up game.