I’m reading the most fantastic book at the moment – The Way We Wore, by Robert Elms. It’s about one man, and the importance of his clothes as he grows up. It’s a social history, and a sartorial autobiography.
Robert Elms is half a generation older than me, so some of the earlier parts of the book are quite difficult to understand, although I can still picture a lot of the clothes very precisely, thanks to seeing the few old photos of my Dad as a teenager, and having been pretty obsessed with the 1960s when I was a teenager myself. The 1970s seem to have been just as confusing for Elms as they were for me, although I was far too young to be thinking about clothes at that time.
It was the 1980s that really did it for me. I was eight years old in 1981, the year that Philip Oakey of the Human League appeared on Top of the Pops with eyeliner, earrings and a pierced nipple. I’m absolutely certain that I noticed none of these things at the time, and was quite shocked when I saw that footage again recently and worked out how young I must have been when I saw it first. The 1980s were for New Romantics and Soft Cell and Nick Rhodes – always Nick Rhodes – never Simon Le Bon or Roger Taylor. Nick Rhodes, always Nick Rhodes, because he was the one with the feathered hair and the eyeliner. No wonder I ended up as a goth. I’d been looking for men in make-up since I was eight years old.
Of course I was far too young to be a goth or a New Romantic at the age of eight, or even really to know what those things meant. I do remember having a Madonna phase, all leggings and hair bows, although it was never as pronounced as my sister’s, who had the lacy gloves and everything. I had braces and a too-big trilby with a turquoise band, purchased from Top Man. I can’t remember now what I attached the braces to. It can’t have been leggings, although my wardrobe was full of those, and I never had a pair of jeans so tight that they had to have a zip at the ankle or you couldn’t get your feet through. My friend Kerry broke her wrist getting into a pair.
I remember the braces and the trilby, and the elasticated belts like a nurse, with a butterfly for the buckle. I remember a neon yellow skirt, worn with the most atrocious haircut on my fourteenth birthday. I remember going all the way to Tammy Girl in Hanley, and longing for the day when my skinny frame would be old enough to fit into grown-up Etam clothes instead. I remember my beloved Falmer Kittens. Jeans with a brand name, instead of from the catalogue! Jeans in a size nine! Jeans with tiny little dots woven directly into the fabric. I loved those jeans, and I wore them until they fell apart, and because ripped denim had become fashionable by then I wore them for a bit longer. I wore them with my favourite shirt, which did come from the catalogue, and it was plain white stiff heavy cotton, with black embroidery down the placket front. Perhaps I also wore the braces, and probably an old waistcoat from a charity shop, covered in badges. I’ve never owned a shirt of such good quality since. I wore it to parties and when it got older I wore it to college. I wore it with skirts and braces and hats. (Probably not all at once, but then it was the 1980s. It’s hard to be sure.)
And shoes. Let’s not even get started on the subject of shoes. Confined to orthopaedic lace-ups during the early years, I remember very clearly being allowed my first pair of tan sandals for the summer, aged about nine. I went outside to play in them, and promptly ruined them by getting covered in tar. That summer was so hot that the road had melted, and my brand new sandals were spoiled.
This was written as a stream of consciousness this morning. (Hence the over-long sentences and too many commas.) I’m sure it’s hugely out of order chronologically, but I was just writing down odd things as they occurred to me. I didn’t even mention the giant black and blue stripy jumper, or the lace-up tan stiletto heels, or the grey pixie boots, or the haircut that made me look like a boy, or my first pair of Doc Martens, which made my Mum laugh because they looked so much like the orthopaedic shoes I’d spent so long rebelling against. I’m sure you’ll get to hear about that some other time…