What self-respecting non-terrorist dude would wear these nighties? These outfits call for an immediate forfeiture of one’s Man Card, and/or enlistment in ISIS.
Maybe this explains rappers? Maybe the lace-up pants with the waistline at the titty nipples explain the sagger trend of the 90s and beyond? Never again will we have BATHROOM SITUATIONS! You know, the bathroom situations that ensue when nature calls and one cannot drop one’s pants quickly enough to direct the shit shower cleanly into the toilet bowl. The opposite problem is equally disturbing though. I don’t want a grown man shitting himself because he can’t untie his pants fast enough, but I also don’t want to see a grown man’s hairy crack because his waistband is under his ass cheeks.
I must say platform shoes for men are actually not a bad idea, at least for short men. Dad’s only 5’6″ and he used to have some platform shoes, back in maybe 1976, until the dog decided her happy ass needed something to chew on. Then again, that dog was an inbred ankle biter who lived to be 16 (though blind and toothless and probably quite senile at the end.) Sad to say no one knows of her exact demise except that Dad let her out one night and she never came back. If I know the redneck nation here in Marion, I would assume someone was driving around drunk and or stoned and hit the poor old thing as she wandered around in the middle of the road and didn’t know it. She was probably all of about fifteen pounds and had the IQ of paint. I love dogs, but this one was not the sharpest tool in the shed.
As far as the shoes, though their life was short, they did help keep him from getting Jackie smacked – like Benny Hill would smack poor Jackie- all the time.
Man, I loved Benny Hill. I love British humor (or should I spell it humour) precisely because of the innuendo and double entendre. I guess I can be easily entertained.
1950s food was surprisingly dismal, at least from some of the pictures and recipes I’ve found. I think I understand why people back in the day were so bloody thin. Putting nasty things like celery (gag) and olives stuffed with pimentos that look like demented eyeballs (barf) and what looks to be squares of cheddar cheese (? good on their own, but not in this context) in lime Jell-O and then garnishing it with tomato wedges (the only thing that looks remotely edible here) and wilty lettuce is just plain gross. I would lose a lot of weight if this were the only thing I were permitted to eat. I could probably even wear one of those June Cleaver dresses that also requires wearing a long line bra and girdle- and still be able to breathe- if I could only eat nasty stuff like this.
I think I’d almost rather die than be corseted like this, even though it does make dresses look a hell of a lot better. My grandmother used to be a lingerie buyer for a swanky department store. She sold this stuff. Wore this stuff. Fitted people for this stuff. I have worn this stuff only on special occasions and it’s hard to ward off both hypoxia and heat stroke wearing this stuff. It’s hot and you can’t breathe worth a damn, let alone move. And the likelihood of having BATHROOM SITUATIONS is just as bad as with the lace-up pants, or with Levi’s 501s, which have button flies. Yay. Not to mention it’s hell on my nails.
At my age I need to be able to get to the crapper and drop my drawers with a minimum of pomp and circumstance.