To the Top...
Oh dear. So, let me get this right: white pumps, skinny jeans and nautical T with collar, not to mention a brown faux-leather jacket, all of which appears to have been inadvertently purchased from Topman. That’s not the sort of thing I should admit, obviously. It’s a strange feeling being revealed as the sort of high street whore that I clearly am, because, let’s face it, you can pick up an equivalent look in just about any Leeds indie out there, and there are plenty to choose from.
This is a new kind of fashion guilt which is clearly a predicament of the modern age: no longer are we required to just look good, but now we need to feel somewhat superior with our clothing decisions too. It’s the sort of attitude that says, “You just rifled through a H&M sale rack, whereas I acquired my locally sourced kafkan by bartering with a street seller in Kirkgate Market.” Topman gets a bad press, although I’m very aware that I’m within the last few years of actually being able to wear it. In fact, at weekends you wonder whose manning the creche, with kids running wild like they’re at a Jungle Bungle for the trendy. But notice how they quickly snap up the more underground trends of the boutiques, like those big collar sweats they had in their winter collection, which like many catwalk friendly items are gradually embraced into the mainstream. So, at 25, it’s still just about OK, but any later and it’s just embarassing.
