The champion of bad taste (Part 1)

I have a confession. It’s a little left field but whatever, I stick by it. So, here it is: I. LOVE. BAD. TASTE. I just adore it! If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t go back and witness something momentous like the fall of the Berlin wall or Woodstock or the birth of Jesus or something like that. No, if I could go back in time I’d venture back to a ski resort in the 80’s populated by affluent yuppies. Then I would sit and wallow in the glory of all the neon patterned onesies whizzing by. That's how strongly i feel about it all.

Please don’t simplify my obsession by putting it down to cheap laughs at another’s expense. My love of bad taste comes from something far deeper. It comes from a place of respect and admiration- awe, even! Nothing brings me more joy then feathers, fur, vinyl, animal print and nylon. The 50 something year old beauty with regrowth for days, a plastic poncho, army boots and metallic stockings? Nothing but respect, honey. It’s about dedication, it’s about believing in something, it’s about having more balls then the ping pong world championships. These people are the proverbial middle finger waving in the face of the conventional straights on a daily basis. And good fucking on them, I say! Though I myself haven’t reached this stage in my life of all out fashion debauchery I occasionally pay homage to my heroes . (As I pause to take a break from writing this, one hand goes for my cold coffee, the other is turning up my music because ‘SOS’ by Abba just came on itunes. Maybe I’m closer to my dreams then I thought?). So, in this blog I plan to regularly document my battles in this war on all which is decent.

To begin with I thought I’d post a real doozy. Something I did of late that I felt was a very momentous act of pulling the rug out from under all things tasteful. I became a ranga. And I don’t mean in the sense of a “funky burgundy”, or a “crazy paramore orange”. I mean ACTUAL ranga. I’m horribly pale as it is, so I look like the REAL DEAL here! My best excuse is that I’ve spent the past few weeks obsessively listening to David Bowie. We’ll see how that one goes. Anywho, without further ado:

That's me last saturday night.






This is me and a friend of mine who is a real redhead. Just shows the authenticity of our fabulousness.