Fashion, function and fit

Not fit for the kitchen

There was a reference in the Newsweek magazine about their online magazine pertaining to lingerie makers now being close to finding the right balance of fashion, function and fit for brassieres.

That alliteration (fashion, function and fit) tweaked something in me about things I saw so recently. Last weekend I ventured with my friend from work back to the African Kitchen where we have all agreed that the lack of competition in the Nigerian cuisine restaurant market leaves us completely robbed blind for bad food and rotten service.

However, we find ourselves returning because some of what we like takes a whole lot of time to prepare; that is not to say we, the punters, are not good cooks in our own right, but the logistics are not a walk in the park.

The codename of the restaurant has been Barawo (thief in Hausa) for the best part of 4 months – the things we suffer.

Not impressed

As we arrived, there were no tables available so we sat at the bar where this “sexy” lady took our orders. She turned around and bent down to get some drinks out of the fridge and all that should be concealed was revealed.

I am probably not as hot-blooded with a rampaging libido as many of the men that frequent that restaurant who might be excited by such views, I was utterly disgusted.

For me, I find no pleasure in voyeurism and I do not enjoy anything that leaves nothing to the imagination, nor do I fantasise about bedding such lack of sophistication – it was indecent, unflattering, dirty and debauched – I am supposed to be in a restaurant not a lap-dancing club.

In any case, she might be in fashion, but the function of the trousers she was wearing was lost as it exposed her nudity, the fit was bad and not fit for purpose – the image that lingers assaults my peace and has me in a tentative state of grabbing for a sickbag.

Seat cleaners required

Then, on the tram the other day, this boy got on and sat two spaces next to me, as I gave a side glance, my disgust with low-hanging trousers was completed with utter revulsion.

I thought, the exposure of the underwear was compensated for by longer tops, but this was not the case, he was sat with his exposed underwear directly on the seat.

That really worried me, cack-laden, stinking, gooey threadbare undergarments rubbed onto public seating that others would use unawares picking up such foreign fecal matter and what not.

I know that most public conveniences now have toilet seat cleaning facilities, would I now have to acquire seat cleaning aids for using public transport.

No doubt again, the boy was following fashion, but the function of the trousers in concealing the underwear was lost and really, the simple thing is the trousers do not fit; else they would not be hanging down.

The foolishness of this fashion is completed with the fact that the legs of the trousers seem to be long enough, but instead of folding them up, they all sweep the ground and any ground anywhere like a bridal train till the trouser hem – if that is the right phrase – looks like rags.

A short distraction

So, I shook my head yesterday afternoon as I took the long bus trip from the more salubrious 805 Restaurant on Old Kent Road – one can get a black cab there but never one back into town.

The lady got off the bus and her skirt was so short that all adjustments she made still meant it was not long enough to cover the detail and quite so short that the curiosity that might have made it interesting left one less complimentary of what any right-thinking person would call a tramp.

How people leave their homes without a double-take in front of a full-length mirror on the exit door of their houses escapes me. If you have to continually adjust the fitting of your apparel after you have left home, you are not properly dressed and you should return home and sort it out.

The things idiots do in the name of fashion.