Fashion Police: A Column From 2006
The Indiana Jones Look, August 2006
A whole year has gone by, darlings, and what a fabulous year it’s been. Full of glamor and intrigue, juicy gossip and mischief. There have been fashion highlights and fashion lowlights… I like to think we’re improving, at the very least…
Now, I notice that on the 19th, this saucy little publication is throwing a gala soiree extravaganza. I want you to be on your best behaviours for the night, sugarplums, and when you’re frocking up in preparation for the Big Event to keep in mind all the invaluable wisdom I’ve been sharing with you over the months. Yes, you will have to shower and yes, you will have to get dressed in front of a mirror. And I certainly don’t want to see anybody sporting what, in moments of dread and nausea I refer to as…The Indiana Jones Look.
Cherubs, I applaud your decision to come to Central America. Really. You’re all very intrepid and I am in awe, constantly. But I think I have pointed out on these pages before the concept of appropriate dress… what may be right for an afternoon of simple diversion with your bondage mistress may not be the perfect outfit for High Tea with the Queen, for example.
Likewise, I am positive that you fellows are fresh out of the jungle, having spent months excavating Mayan skulls and dodging poisoned arrows blowdarted by hostile pygmies. But we’re in the city here, boys, and we can relax the dress code a little. Our pants do not, for example, need more than, say, fifteen pockets. Our hats need not be waterproof, collapsible or have built in mosquito nets. Boots, while acceptable if handmade from kid leather by our favorite shoemaker in Milan need not be capable of Everest or Lunar expeditions.
Machetes, even slung in those darling native-weave holsters, are just plain silly.
And for goodness sakes, let’s bury the photographer vest now and forever. Ugly and cumbersome back when it was actually used by professionals in the field, now that everybody has switched to digital, there really is no need to be souring the landscape with these relics. OK. That’s it from me, sweetpeas. See you on the 19th.