As has been previously documented in my electric columns, I am no expert when it comes to fashion. But it doesn’t take an Albert Einstein to recognise that the correct way to wear a pair of trousers is to keep the waist at a suitable height so that the wearer’s undergarments are not openly visible to the naked eye.
There is a fashion epidemic within today’s ‘yoof’ society which appears to have caused an adverse chemical reaction in the brains of young people. As a result, anyone under the age of 18 seems to be compelled to go out in public with their trousers hanging around their ankles, flashing imitation designer underwear, and usually tripping over themselves within seconds of closing their mum’s front door.
Then there are those who choose to wear trousers where a ludicrous amount of room has been tailored around the genitals and inner thigh areas, with the leg section not starting until well below the knee. Most people refer to these trousers as ‘baggy’. My late grandfather referred to them as ‘shit-stoppers.’ Observing the general state of the ‘yoofs’ who wear them, one is inclined to agree with him.
Then, of course, there are those ‘yoofs’ who try to combine styles and wear shit-stoppers hanging around their ankles. But all this really does is make them question whether it would’ve been easier to cut a couple of extra holes in a potato sack and wear that instead.
One fears that the days of Great Britain’s younger citizens wearing smart-looking casual clothes are long gone. It is now a national fancy-dress party, except there is nothing particularly fancy about the bizarre costumes that ‘yoofs’ seem happy to be dressed in.
And one is doubly confused as to why ‘yoofs’ born and bred in London speak in a Jamaican accent. Perhaps I’m unaware of some funky Caribbean digital TV channel which focuses on how everyone there wears sensible trousers and speaks like a cockney.
Of course, as a writer (or, at least, a struggling one), one has to be down with the kids and stay fat with the gen. One must avoid one’s face being beefed, and adverse comments should be directed at one’s hand as one’s face will not be listening. This is because I am bad. I am a bad writer, innit. (I have to be careful who I direct my latter comment to in case they do not wear shit-stoppers and take its literal meaning. More often than not, they would be right!)
But, however depressing the state of Britain’s ‘yoof’ culture is, I am proud of the fact that many people tend to think I look much younger than my actual years. Well, it’s the Jamaican accent and potato sack which does it. Word!