Liverpool One-angel nil

 

Holla, dear WoS enthusiasts!

Today was a righteous day.  As the sun embraced me and roused me from my slumber at noon, I smiled a knowing smile.  For today was a day off!  Oh yes. 

Now, those of you that have the ‘fortune’ to know me know that other than sculpting my abs and talking about politics, there’s nothing I like more than clothes and the purchasing thereof.  It seemed ‘fitting’ (ho!) that I pass this sweet day in one of my favoured endeavours. 

Alas and alack I couldn’t get in to Manchester to visit the stark, sterile consumer-worlde of the Trafford Centre for there was an accident on the motorway and I was forced to turn back (Faschists!).  Thank both the Roman and Greek Gods (and possibly the Norse ones too) for Liverpool One!

It’s now 3 frickin 30 and I’ve yet to even touch cloth (ho!) of garments and I make my way to the mecca that is Liverpool one.  Now this baby is open ’til twenty hundred hours soldier.  O happy day!  Anything that means that I can fulfil and lengthen any opportunity for shop assistants to give me the ‘ups and downs’ is an opportunity to be seized.  One shop assistant in Urban Outfitters who wasa cross between a poor man’s Gok Wan and Sam Sparro gave me a ‘up and down’ look so hard I had to check whether I’d remembered to put on my keks after leaving the fitting room.  I had.  He was just being bitchy. 

When I was staring at pieces of cloth blankly in All Saints it struck me that all shops have a formula.  Read on, with your very own eye devices, my interpretation of contemporary chain stores!

I am Gap.  I am safe.  I will show you grey jumpers and jerseys in sludgy colours.  I won’t offend anyone, but I may send them into a soporitfic slumber, I am that boring.  I favour the middle aged lady.  I am Gap. 

I am All Saints.  I am ‘edgy’.  I have asymmetical hems and ragged edges.  I am creased and crumpled and look like I might possibly smell of damp.  I look like a hundred students have put fag burns in my clothes after drinking eggy snakebite black all night.  I am too cool for you. Even if you think you can buy something safe in me, like a bag, I’ll charge you £70 for one the size of an atom.  Turn away.  Get back to Gap. 

I am New Look.  People feel ashamed to say they shop in me and so call me ‘Nouveau Regarde’ to hide their palpable shame.  I am full of jersey material, glitter and sparkles.  I have patterns printed on my fabric rather than having actual patterned fabric.  ‘Tis cheaper that way.  If you work behind a bar, you will probably wear me.  You’ll wear one of my glittery tops with a pair of my black polyester trousers that will go shiny on the arse after you iron it once.  my tops and dresses have bits cut out of them so onlookers can observe your cleavage easily.  Je suis Nouveau Regarde

I am River Island.  I am all about the chains, the corsages, the diamantes and the bleach splatter.  If you buy a garment from me, it’ll have about a hundred different things sewn on it, that’ll clink and irritate and spoil what is otherwise a perfectly good item.  If you are over 30 and wear my clothes, you’ll look like the barmaid from the Dog and Duck. 

I am Oasis.  I fucking hate short people.  With their tiny fucking scrawny bodies and their short fucking limbs.  Why don’t they just fucking put on some weight and get some human growth hormone?  I despise them so much I’ll taunt them with my lovely clothes and entice them in.  Then once they’re in the fitting rooms after they’ve been carrying around some motherfucking gorgeous dress for half an hour and got all attached to it’s tailoring and detail, they’ll try my stuff on and realise it makes them look like a Romanian Orphan.  Ha.  Fucking bastards!  I am Oasis!  Haaaaaaahahahah!

 

FIN

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