Sometimes, words are not enough. But that’s okay, we can always fall back on music and pictures.
Tag: seven reasons
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Russian Roulette Sunday: The A to Z of 7 Reasons (part I)
Crikey! It’s the first part of an A to Z of 7 Reasons. Whatever will they think of next? Yup, the second part. Almost certainly.
A is for Advertising. It’s something we haven’t quite got right yet. Since we blew the whole of our budget on an ad from Pearl & Dean, we have been kicking around trying to make the most of our own talents. Which is why we’ve created masks and stolen 1970s posters and changed the words. We’ll get it right though. Someday.
B is for Bath. Much of the creative thought that goes into 7 Reasons occurs in the bath. Many, many posts and website features have had their genesis there. The bath is a place of much 7 Reasons creativity. It is not, however, a place for 7 Reasons meetings. We won’t make that mistake again. Oh the horror.
C is for Cat. Or, to give him his correct name, Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns. This is who actually comes up with all posts for the Yorkshire side of the sofa. And probably explains all the scratches.
D is for Daily. 7 Reasons has a new post every day. Not always with the correct amount of apostrophes, but it’s there (or rather here) every day. We’re more reliable than the postman, more dedicated than god, and more committed than…in fact, we probably should be committed.
E is for Eighth Reason Competition. One of the better ideas Jon has had, though that isn’t saying much. You may not have realised it, but it is still running. All you have to do is think of an eighth reason for one of that week’s posts and you may well win a badge. Well actually, you will win a badge. Because no one else will enter.
F is for France. We’re probably not welcome there. Perhaps as a result of this image.
Or as a result of this post. Or this post. Or this post.
G is for Guests. Every Saturday someone joins us on the sofa. And they’ve come up with some intriguing observations. Things about gussets; and cricket kits looking like bananas; and freckles. And, rather frustratingly, they always prove the most popular posts of the week.
H is for Hell’s teeth! Which is what I exclaimed when 7 Reasons was first read in Ulaanbaatar. Strange that someone in Mongolia would want to know why Marc’s afraid of Flamenco dancers but there you go. The world: It’s a bit odd.
I is for Intelligence. This is something Marc and Jon are still striving for. Though until 7 Reasons is finally put to rest, they’ll go on looking at plant pots and Germans and tortoise shells and thinking there are 7 Reasons right there.
J is for Jennifer. Jennifer Aniston. Ah Jennifer, Jennifer. Jen Jen. One day we feel sure that you’ll respond to our phone calls/emails/faxes/letters/texts/tweets/notes written on beermats and pushed under your door/petrarchan sonnets performed from the depths of your garden hedge. One day. One fine day. One happy, happy day. One glorious day.
K is for Kent (via Sussex). This is where the first half of the 7 Reasons team is based. If we are doing it in alphabetical order. If we’re doing it in height order, it would be the second half. But we’re not. We’re doing it in alphabetical order. So it’s the first half.
L is for Lucubration. Like most good things, much of the work that goes into 7 Reasons happens at night, while mere mortals are sleeping or watching television or knitting or whatever people do at night when they’re not writing. They edit probably. We don’t know what they do, we are busy. We write. At night. Oh, and during the day too. We just wanted to show off our fancy word.
M is for Muppet. If it wasn’t for muppetry, you wouldn’t be reading this A-Z now. All will become clear next week. We’re very excited about next week. Be sure to clear three minutes and seven seconds in your diary next Sunday. We’ve cleared six minutes and fourteen seconds, but then there are two of us. Did we mention that we’re excited?
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Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Shop At Ikea
Another Saturday comes by and with it another chance for Marc and I to get up from the sofa and stretch our legs. I am stretching them quite far today. From Fulham to some place in Kent. I’m moving you understand. But that’s enough about me, let’s focus on the issue in hand. Today’s 7 Reasons piece comes from regular 7 Reasons contributor, Simon Best. Who, when he’s not writing for us – or shopping in Ikea – can be found writing on twitter. He also does some other things that no one quite understands.
1. Names. Everything they sell at Ikea from the largest kitchen unit to the smallest tealight has a name, the vast majority with a Scandinavian touch, some with more imagination than others: the ‘Dimma’ lamp, the ‘Pyra’ wok, the ‘Slitbar’ knife. I doubt that ‘Slitbar’ is actually the Swedish for knife but it is not beyond the realms of possibility. The names are also the answer to parents who don’t want to name their offspring Apple or Chardonnay – Knubbig, Gnistra and Ivar offer perfect alternatives – it’s only fair after Ikea stole the name ‘Billy’ for their best selling item – it is now more widely associated with a bookcase than a boy.
2. Showrooms. Much of the space in Ikea is taken up with showrooms displaying Ikea furniture in various combinations: kitchens, bedrooms, offices, living rooms. They’re often given a lived in look which reassures you that it is not just you that left your bed unmade and a pile of washing up in the sink. They also show you how the furniture you buy will never look in your house, after all if they lose bolt E or joint B then there is a shop full of them, then there is a shop full of them.
3. Pencils. Everywhere you look in Ikea there are little wooden pencils. They’re handy for writing down measurements or noting down the location of things you want to buy. They’re also perfect for sticking behind your ear which is essential for making you look as if you are competent at DIY. The reality is that most men walking round Ikea with a pencil behind their ear are there because their wives have sent them out of the house while a professional comes round to fix the damage that they did the previous weekend with their drill. The preponderance of pencils in Ikea is mirrored by one in my house. I don’t buy pencils any more, I just go to Ikea, stick one behind each ear and forget they are there until I get home.
4. Lack of piped music. One of the things I hate about going shopping is the musak that pervades high street stores and shopping malls. When I go to the supermarket I don’t want to listen to THIS [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oofSnsGkops] I want to listen to Test Match Special so that I can hear England slump from a respectable 70 for none (by the cheese counter) to a disastrous 104 for 5 (while I’m deciding whether to buy Braeburns or Granny Smiths). Ikea has no music, which is a relief because I don’t think the world could cope with a cover of Waterloo or Super-Trouper played on Guatemalan panpipes.
5. A masterclass in bad parenting. Most of the people shopping in Ikea are families. People go at the weekend and take their children. Now Ikea stores are big but they’re not a park or an adventure playground.Children spend most of their week in pre-fab buildings with bright furniture and at the weekend they should be outside playing football or building treehouses or riding their choppers (oh, sorry I forget it wasn’t 1985 anymore). When children are taken to ikea they get bored – which is understandable as the only interest they have in furniture is its capacity to be adapted to a pirate ship or be used to shut their younger sister in. As a result parents get angry and shout. Go to Ikea on a weekend and you will observe a masterclass in bad parenting.
6. Trolleys. When you enter Ikea you’ll see normal shopping trolleys by the door. My advice is to leave them where they are. When you get to the warehouse where all the furniture is stacked you’ll find much more exciting flat-bed trolleys. While you are looking for Aisle 4 Section 17 to pick up your table they make excellent scooters – that is until you collide with a large woman carrying four pot plants and a selection of candles. You might even find the bored children following your example. Something that their parents will doubtless thank you for.
7. Meatballs. Quite possibly the best thing about Ikea is the restaurant – and specifically the meatballs with lingonberries Where else can you find delicious international cuisine for astoundingly good value. People go to Ikea at dinner time just to have some meatballs with the furniture being a side attraction.* You can even take some meatballs home with you to microwave which is a good thing as there is no way you’re going to have that kitchen unit assembled and be able to cook dinner in the space of a day.
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7 Reasons That Bananas Are Amazing
1. Nutrition. Bananas are very good for you. They’ve got sucrose, glucose, fructose and things that don’t end in ose. There’s fibre, potassium and iron. They have five times more vitamin A content than an apple, they also contain lots of B and C vitamins, and probably some from further along the alphabet too. And, if you live (approximately) a 22.5 minute run from your nearest banana shop you can get all of the energy you need for a run to, and back from, the shop by eating a single banana before you go*.
2. The banana is like the sandwich. That may strike you as odd, but it’s true. There are many varieties of banana, but the one we all know and love; the one that we commonly call the banana is, in fact, called the Cavendish banana. It’s named after William Cavendish, the sixth Duke of Devonshire and the sandwich, as we all know, is named after John Montagu, the fourth Earl of Sandwich. Hence, the banana is like the sandwich. These men didn’t invent or cultivate them, they were merely notable early consumers of their eponymous products. Perhaps, using this system, Twitter will eventually be called Stephen Fry and the iPad will be known as the Git. Who can tell?
3. Flavour. Bananas taste of bananas, which is great. I like bananas, and if they tasted of tomato or houmous they’d be quite disappointing. But as it is, bananas taste like a sort of a wholesome, less rich, version of banana milkshake. Or a less cakey version of banana cake. Or a more banana-y version of not eating a banana. Look, just eat a banana and figure it out for yourself. They’re jolly nice.
4. Ripeness. When bananas aren’t ready to be eaten, they are green. When they are ready to be eaten, they are yellow. Simple. And when they’ve gone off and they shouldn’t be eaten, they’re brown. There aren’t many foods that so obviously and vividly communicate their own state of edibility. I want to describe the bananas inbuilt colour-coding system as awesome but it’s better than that. It hasn’t just provoked some awe in me, it’s provoked much awe. The colour-coding system of the banana is awemuch. It’s so amazing that I’ve invented a word.
5. Portability. Bananas are supremely portable. They require no implement to eat them, no special container to store them in (they already come wrapped in one) and they don’t need to be cooked. When at home, this is my daily breakfast: A banana, a glass of sparkling water and an espresso. That’s three things to carry away from the kitchen. But I only have two hands. Fortunately though, the banana’s innate portability means that it fits perfectly into my trouser pocket. Thus, I avoid making a second journey to-and-from the kitchen. Sadly, this practice is also the source of many a ribald remark, such as:
Wife: Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?
Me: It’s a banana in my pocket.
Or
Houseguest: Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?
Me: It’s a banana in my pocket.
Or:
Houseguest 2: Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?
Me: It’s a banana in my pocket.
Laugh? We nearly…no no, we didn’t. Anyway, the banana can travel anywhere, occasionally without provoking poor innuendo.
6. Prop. You can use it to do all sorts of things. You can make a smile with it – not one an American would like as bananas are yellow, but a smile nonetheless – and you can make an unsmile (what the hell is the opposite of a smile called?).
You can use it as a pretend gun, which is especially useful if people keep enquiring if that’s “…a banana in your pocket…?” You can also pretend it’s a telephone, but then you have to talk into a banana, which makes you look a little bit mad. And you won’t hear anyone talking back. Hopefully.
7. Novelty. Bananas are exotic. Well, unless you’re reading this in Latin America, Africa or Southeast Asia, in which case they probably seem quite humdrum. But in the UK we import all of our bananas. This means that during the Second World War there weren’t any to be had at all; my own father didn’t see his first banana until he was seven years old. Bananas seemed so novel and exotic back then, that during towards the end of WWII people actually advertised their banana flavoured barley pudding mixture(!) by drawing attention to their lack of bananas. Think on that, the next time you’re eating a banana.
*Never eat a married banana.
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7 Reasons That Vuvuzelas Are Annoying
1. The Obsession. The nation is obsessed with the vuvuzela. It’s impossible to read a newspaper, listen to the radio, watch the television, go to the pub, or read an internet humour site without someone bleating on about vuvuzelas. But I think that this focus on the vuvuzela is causing us to miss out on other World Cup stories. We’re just not getting enough ill-informed conjecture about problems with the ball: Is it that it’s too round? Is it the altitude? Does it fly too straight? Doesn’t it fly straight enough? Does it look too much like a fly?
It's a fly! All of the coverage of the vuvuzelas is preventing us from having what we really want. 24 hour per day coverage of the ball. And more Robbie Savage.
2. The Name. The English language is a fusion of many languages from around the world and a lot of our words come from other countries. We get bungalow from India, sepia from Italy, mammoth from Russia and surrender from France (rather unsurprisingly). Yet it’s safe to say that our language wasn’t aided in its evolution by anyone who had been involved in professional football as, in the past week – from various players and former-players – I’ve heard “vuvulas”, “vuvuslas”, “the horns” and from Sir Geoff Hurst, no less, “uvuvezlas”. The awful mangling of the word vuvuzela is possibly the only thing that’s more grating than the sound of the instrument itself.
3. Stadium Atmosphere. The din of the vuvuzelas drowns out everything else occurring in the stadiums. This isn’t always a bad thing, as it drowned out the sound of happy Germans on Sunday, but it drowned everything else out too. The crowd reaction, singing, cheering, chanting, abuse; in fact, just about all of the things that reflect the partisan nature of football. The drone of massed vuvuzelas is a relentless unremitting cacophany that doesn’t abuse the referee, ask Fabio to dance, play the theme from The Great Escape (sorry, poor argument); doesn’t do anything fun or interesting at all. It’s just noise. An incessant racket that drowns out everything good about the stadium atmosphere. Everything.
4. Domestic Atmosphere. The vuvuzela operates at a similar pitch and tone to the human voice which means that, when you’re viewing the World Cup at home, you’re trying to filter out the frequency that other people in the room are speaking at. Thanks to the vuvuzela, if my wife turned to me during a match and said, “Would you like a beer?” or “Jennifer Aniston’s at the door, she wants to know if you can come out to play,” I probably wouldn’t hear her. Experience tells me that she’s unlikely to say either of those things, but what if she did and I missed it? Catastrophe. I hate going to the fridge.
5. Envy. It’s substantial, straight and three feet long, and I must say that I’m quite jealous, as there’s no way I could take anything like that to a football match in England. I’d probably be fed to a police-horse or charged with possession of a vuva vovos avuvuvu…“I’ll let you off with a caution this time sonny, now on your way”. We don’t even get trusted with bottled water over here.
6. Sound. The sound of massed vuvuzelas is like the sound of a swarm of angry wasps, but deeper. Usually, the larger an animal is, the deeper the sound that they make – so it’s giant angry wasps that we’ll hear the sound of all summer. Giant angry wasps! Well I certainly won’t be falling asleep during a match, or at any time at all during the summer. Except when Andy Townsend’s “analysing” the action, that is.
7. We’re Stuck With Them. There is only one thing that would be worse than enduring the sound of the vuvuzela: That would be banning the vuvuzela. Just because we Europeans have our own expectations of how a football match should be viewed, it doesn’t mean that they should be forced on the rest of the world. This is South Africa’s World Cup, and god knows they’ve earned it. World Cup 2010 should be a uniquely African spectacle and, much to my annoyance, this includes that giant dung beetle thing from the opening ceremony and the bloody vuvuzelas. But we shouldn’t be downhearted about this; sometimes the most memorable parts of World Cups are the unique things that the host nations bring to them. Mexico ’86’s wave, Argentina ’78’s ticker-tape, Italia ’90’s Three Tenors and USA ’94’s blank incomprehension about some sort of soccer-ball tournament going on. Long after many of the matches and incidents are forgotten, these are the memories that remain. And so it will be with the vuvuzela. We will have to suffer it for a month or so, but in time it’ll be the thing that the tournament is remembered for. We may even feel nostalgia for it. Eventually.
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Guest Post: 7 Reasons Why Summer Is Ace
Oh how we do like to be beside the seaside. Which is why today Marc and I have dressed in our nauticals and headed off for the beach. In doing so we leave the 7 Reasons sofa in the capable hands of Liz Gregory. Someone who probably now wishes she was at the seaside with us instead of clearing up our biscuit crumbs. Once you’ve read Liz’s piece, do pop over to her blog, Things To Do In Manchester, and say hello. She’s waiting for you. With an ice-cream.
1. More Daylight. This is of course the original and best reason why summer is better than winter. You don’t feel like you’re getting up in the middle of the night to go to work, and you don’t have the urge to put your pyjamas on the second you get home – somehow the day just seems to have more hours in it. Although mathematically, of course, it doesn’t.
2. Barbecues. What other occasion allows you to consume a meal consisting entirely of meat? Sure, you may wish to bump up the nutritional value by adding a fruit/vegetable item such as ketchup, but you are under absolutely no pressure to do so. There is no other repast in the world that permits this kind of sausage-based frenzy, so we should embrace it while we can. And because the food is eaten outside in the fresh air, it is officially incredibly healthy and good for you.
3. No Tights. I admit this is largely a female-interest point (or so I presume), but I’m sure men have an equivalent item they are glad to leave behind come summer. Where there are tights, there is discomfort, particularly for tall girls who may encounter gusset-issues, or smaller girls who may suffer from bagging at the ankles. Summer weather frees us from such tyranny, and as a bonus also allows for the painting of toe-nails and the donning of flip flops.
4. Acceptability of Pink Wine. There are certain drinks that are only acceptable in the summer months, pink wine being one of them. Anything tastes nice when consumed outside in the sunshine, leading people with normally impeccable taste to enthusiastically adopt drinks they would eschew at other times of the year; Pimm’s also falls into this category. Somehow, in June a glass full of sweet alcohol crammed randomly full of lumps of cucumber seems right; you will have returned to your senses by Autumn, so do not be frightened by this kind of temporary lapse.
5. Beer Gardens. Sometimes better in thought than actuality; many of the beer gardens near where I live are in fact trestle tables lined up around the edge of the car park. Still, use your imagination (or simply live in the country as opposed to central Manchester), and you could be somewhere really picturesque. Plus, there’s always the amusement of watching someone at a nearby table leap up and hare across the pub, pursued by angry wasps who wish to share their pint of lager.
6. Tabloid Newspapers. Tabloids were made for summer. Hot days will inevitably lead to pictures of bikini-clad lovelies cavorting in fountains, dogs playing with hose-pipes and parrots eating ice-cream; this is a part of our cultural heritage of which we are justly proud. Real news is simply put on hold until September, or is tucked safely away behind the pictures of children with Slush Puppy cartons on their heads.
7. The Seaside. The British seaside is a wondrous thing, demonstrating the wonder of humanity in its many forms. Here we eat bubblegum-flavoured ice-cream, paddle in seaweed-infested waters, and trample on the complex sandcastles and villages that nearby children have spent hours crafting. Pack a lovely picnic (must include pink wine – see Reason 4) and enjoy the feeling as your shoulders start to burn; remember, the rest of the summer will be wet, so plenty of time for the redness to fade.
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7 Reasons That The Panini World Cup 2010 Sticker Album Is Frustrating
The World Cup starts today, and so does my 2010 World Cup Panini sticker album, and it’s fair to say that I’m rather excited by both events. Somehow though, the Panini album isn’t quite as much fun as I remember them being in my childhood.
1. Cost. Traditionally, Panini sticker albums are very expensive to complete, but I’ve found ten packets of stickers on Amazon for £4.52, and I only need 638 stickers to complete the pack. So potentially, I could complete my collection for as little as £60 (approximately). But that won’t happen, obviously. I’ll probably end up spending a fortune trying to find An Chol-Hyok or Haminu Dramani. As John Cleese said, “I can take the despair, it’s the hope I can’t stand.”
2. Duplicates. Nine Peter Crouches. I know I’m going to end up with nine Peter Crouches. Obviously, when buying packs of stickers I’ll check that there are no feet protruding from the bottom of them, but I just know that – despite my precautions – I’ll end up with nine of him. And what the hell can I swap eight Peter Crouches for?
3. Social Media. Swapping stickers isn’t the challenge that it used to be. It would be a matter of ease to use the Twitter hashtag #panini to find other people to swap with; there’s also a Facebook group to swap World Cup stickers in. Where’s the difficulty there? Obviously it’s preferable to having grown-men turn up at their local school playgrounds looking for swapsies but still, it does take some of the challenge out of it.
4. It’s Out Of Date. Panini obviously had to put the albums together before the final World Cup squads were announced. My first six stickers (free with the album) were; Steven Pienaar, Javier Mascherano, Rio Ferdinand, Michael Essien, Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres, yet only 67% of those players are going to be at the World Cup. And Drogba’s fitness is still a bit of a question-mark. In the Panini England squad, there’s no Jamie Carragher or Joe Cole, but Theo Walcott and David Beckham are there. Sadly, Bobby Moore isn’t.
5. Cheating. You can now order the missing stickers that you need to complete your album from Panini online. That’s outrageous. It would feel like cheating. When did they start doing that? The potential of failing to complete the album is one of the most important parts of the sticker-album experience: It makes the investment in stickers a gamble. And it’s important to teach children to gamble because…um…okay, perhaps it isn’t. But it is important to teach them that sometimes life is hard, and that desire and effort alone often aren’t enough to succeed. We need to beat the hope out of them while they’re still young. Never mind mollycoddling them with the certainty of a complete album. Bastards!
6. Referees. There aren’t any referees in the album. But I’m supporting Howard Webb this World Cup; I think he can go all the way to the final. I’ve never complained about the lack of a picture of a former policeman from Rotherham before – possibly no one has – but why aren’t there any refs? Surely if there’s room for players that aren’t playing, there should be room for officials?
7. The Customary Descent Into Panini Madness. My birthday occurs during the World Cup. What do you think I’ve asked for? Clothes? Furniture? A bicycle? Beer? No, eschewing all sorts of cool and interesting presents, I’ve asked for stickers. Lots of stickers. Because I want to complete my Panini album (without resorting to cheating) more than I want anything in the world. In fact, I’d probably get more satisfaction from completing it than I would from an England World Cup victory. It’s only day one, and already my Panini album has caused me to lose all sense of proportion. Where will it end?
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7 Reasons That 7 Reasons Didn’t Appear Today
7 Reasons is owned and run by two men, Marc Fearns and Jonathan Lee. Outside of the weekends, they tend to – when not co-authoring posts – take it in turns to write for it. Today it was Marc’s turn. Despite being on holiday, he was confident that he could combine a trip to the North-West of England with writing. He was wrong. Here are 7 reasons that 7 Reasons didn’t appear today.
1. Hair. Being away from home exposes you to all sorts of new and exciting things. This morning, in a friend’s bathroom Marc discovered hair moisturiser. He had no idea what it was, and there were no instructions on the carton, but he felt compelled to experiment with it anyway. Even now, many hours later, he is still staring admiringly at his hair in the mirror, enthralled by its lustrous sheen.
2. Beer. Marc has consumed so much beer in the last few days that it has begun to affect his biological makeup. He has now mutated into the solid form of beer, which is bread. Could you type with toast soldiers for fingers? No, of course you couldn’t. Nor can he.
3. Technology. Marc hates Macs. He was staying with a friend who hates PCs. Marc’s friend was writing school reports, and was obliged to use a PC (the report-writing software doesn’t work on a mac). Because of this, Marc had to write his 7 Reasons post using his friend’s MacBook Pro. They were sharing a kitchen table. Unfortunately, the level of agitated technological incomprehension and frankly astonishingly vitriolic invective reached such a vociferous and sustained hubbub that a furious and wrathful god was provoked into smiting them both down. Forensic pathologists, having sifted through the ashes, have determined that the last words they wrote were:
4. The Hash Key. Where the hell is the hash key and why are they hiding it? I’m a grown man, I can be trusted to use the hash key responsibly, it’s not like I can start a war with it or…
And:
Bill Gates. F. Must try harder and why the fuck can’t I disable the trackpad!
4. Tradition. A dog ate 7 Reasons. It’s true, and if you can read this now you’re inside a giant dog. We’re fairly certain that he’s called Rex.
5. Cycling. Marc lives in a reasonably flat city and rides a fixed-gear cycle. Unfortunately, he hasn’t mastered the technique of stopping by locking the back wheel of his bike with his legs yet. With brilliant logic he decided that removing the rear brake from his bicycle would motivate him to learn this technique. He is staying in Bolton, a town riddled with steep inclines. The somewhat pensive-looking cyclist was last seen hurtling down a hill at a speed estimated to be in excess of 350mph. Onlookers reported that, as he overtook two lorries, a bus, three motorcycles, fifteen cars and a coach containing pensioners from Morecambe, he was heard to say, “crikey”. His current whereabouts are unknown and Bolton Police are too busy investigating reports of a meteor strike to search for him.
6. The Nautical Look. Marc was attacked by an angry mob of sailors, or women (he’s not sure which), who took exception to his observation that horizontal stripes were suitable attire for burglars, chavs and Beano characters but should never be worn by decent people: He was cast adrift with no access to writing implements, fruit or espresso. Which is pretty much the standard Bolton visitor experience, but in a boat.
7. Wrongness. It turns out that it has appeared today. Oh well, everyone can be wrong once a week. It’s Jon’s turn again tomorrow.
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7 Reasons Marc Is Wrong About The Nautical Look
Yesterday, Marc wrote a post called, 7 Reasons That The Nautical Look Is Objectionable. I read it aghast. How could someone so intelligent be so wrong? Today, I aim to put right his wrongs.
1. Saturation Point. Too much of a thing is never good – which is why I’m editing this with a hangover – and the nautical look is everywhere. It’s finally reached saturation point and now it seems that almost every woman in the UK is dressed as a sailor. Now, there’s nothing wrong with women dressing as sailors, or anything else that takes their fancy, but that doesn’t mean that every woman should dress as one. Wouldn’t it be nice to see some of them dressing in outfits without horizontal stripes and rope motifs? Perhaps as spacewomen or conquistadors. Or Minnie Mouse. Or just as themselves. Our high streets look like a production of HMS Pinafore at the moment. What Marc seems to be forgetting here is why nearly every woman in the UK is dressing as a sailor. It’s fairly simple. This is the UK. We are a sea-faring nation. It’s in our blood. So when Marc asks why aren’t women dressing as Minnie Mouse or conquistadors, it’s because British women have no emotional attachment to these themes. And because they’d look stupid.
2. Confusion. It’s confusing. Sailors are sailors: we can tell that by their uniforms and their weatherbeaten faces. Women are women: we can tell that because they smell nice and have soft hands. But the nautical look blurs the issue somewhat. No, it doesn’t. Nor is it confusing. It might be confusing to Marc, but that is because he doesn’t have the required imagination. I see nothing wrong with this overlap. In fact I see a very positive outcome. The classic ‘woman dressed as a sailor’ fantasy. Allow me to demonstrate using science…or maths (It’s definitely one of those things).
A Venn diagram illustrating the 'woman dressed as sailor' fantasy. 3. Anchor. When choosing an outfit with a decorative motif, is it really wise to choose one that rhymes with wanker? Yes, it is. Much more wise than to have a decorative motif of – and I do apologise in advance for saying this – a punt.
4. The Next Step. Many women are currently dressing as sailors, but what if this fad takes a slight twist? What if sailors start dressing as women? A fair point you would think. Unfortunately, Marc has this the wrong way round. It’s the fact that sailors originally started dressing as women – in the 1800’s when men were on ships together for months and months on end – that has made the women adopt the nautical theme for themselves.
5. Weather. Now I’m sure the nautical look would look fine and dandy when worn on the back of a motor-yacht moored in Porta Banus or Cannes. But it isn’t. It’s being worn in Manchester, where it rains all summer. The last time I checked, rain was wet. And it formed puddles. The sea is wet and is one big puddle. Wet weather, therefore, would seem to be perfect for the nautical look.
6. Do It Properly. The nautical look is being done in a half-hearted manner. Wearing a stripy top under a blue jacket is lame. If you want to do the nautical look well, wear a tricorn hat, an eye-patch, a peg-leg, a hand-hook; carry a parrot around. Wear vast epaulettes dripping with gold braid and the full cuff insignia of an Admiral; accessorise your outfit with a telescope or a sextant. Ditch your umbrella in favour of a Sowester hat, oilskins and a life-jacket. Grow a beard. This isn’t really doing it properly. This is dressing like a pirate. Marc wants you to drop your nauticals in favour of his pirate vision. Don’t do it.
7. Paris Hilton. Paris Hilton’s a big fan of the nautical look. Paris Hilton’s also an idiot. Do you really want to dress like an idiot? I use Paris Hilton as a general guide to life. You can too. Whoever you are, whatever you’re about to do, ask yourself the question: Would Paris Hilton do this? If the answer is yes, don’t do it. Okay, he’s not totally wrong here. Marc is right on one aspect. Paris Hilton is an idiot. But actually, if we are honest with ourselves, we are also a little bit jealous. Paris Hilton is a millionairess – in her own right – for doing pretty much nothing with no talent. I like that idea. I like the idea of becoming a millionairess for doing pretty much nothing, with no talent. And, if adopting the nautical look is part of the ‘doing nothing’ masterplan, then I’m in. And I’m not even a woman.
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7 Reasons That The Nautical Look Is Objectionable
1. Saturation Point. Too much of a thing is never good – which is why I’m editing this with a hangover – and the nautical look is everywhere. It’s finally reached saturation point and now it seems that almost every woman in the UK is dressed as a sailor. Now, there’s nothing wrong with women dressing as sailors, or anything else that takes their fancy, but that doesn’t mean that every woman should dress as one. Wouldn’t it be nice to see some of them dressing in outfits without horizontal stripes and rope motifs? Perhaps as spacewomen or conquistadors. Or Minnie Mouse. Or just as themselves. Our high streets look like a production of HMS Pinafore at the moment.
2. Confusion. It’s confusing. Sailors are sailors: we can tell that by their uniforms and their weatherbeaten faces. Women are women: we can tell that because they smell nice and have soft hands. But the nautical look blurs the issue somewhat. Allow me to demonstrate using science…or maths (It’s definitely one of those things).
- A Venn diagram which illustrates the inherent confusion caused by the nautical look.
3. Anchor. When choosing an outfit with a decorative motif, is it really wise to choose one that rhymes with wanker? No, it isn’t. Because people will take the piss. Not having an anchor on your breast pocket insulates you from jibes and cruel humour. The same goes for not having a ship on your handbag.
4. The Next Step. Many women are currently dressing as sailors, but what if this fad takes a slight twist? What if sailors start dressing as women? It’s confusing enough already, do we really need that?
5. Weather. Now I’m sure the nautical look would look fine and dandy when worn on the back of a motor-yacht moored in Porta Banus or Cannes. But it isn’t. It’s being worn in Manchester, where it rains all summer. And, unlike real sailors, people are wearing stuff that isn’t waterproof. I saw people attired in faux-nautical gear sheltering from rain in a bus shelter yesterday. They looked foolish.
6. Do It Properly. The nautical look is being done in a half-hearted manner. Wearing a stripy top under a blue jacket is lame. If you want to do the nautical look well, wear a tricorn hat, an eye-patch, a peg-leg, a hand-hook; carry a parrot around. Wear vast epaulettes dripping with gold braid and the full cuff insignia of an Admiral; accessorise your outfit with a telescope or a sextant. Ditch your umbrella in favour of a Sowester hat, oilskins and a life-jacket. Grow a beard. This woman demonstrates how to pull off the nautical look properly.
Or you could do what this man did and dress up as a mermaid before sinking without trace. That’s true dedication to the nautical look.
7. Paris Hilton. Paris Hilton’s a big fan of the nautical look. Paris Hilton’s also an idiot. Do you really want to dress like an idiot? I use Paris Hilton as a general guide to life. You can too. Whoever you are, whatever you’re about to do, ask yourself the question: Would Paris Hilton do this? If the answer is yes, don’t do it.
What an anchor.
