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May 3, 2010 | by  | in Opinion |
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Clothes before hoes

It is 2am on a Saturday morning. My boyfriend and I are standing outside Logan Brown, having a heated debate. (No, we hadn’t been eating at Logan Brown, we just happened to be outside it. Just setting the scene, people.) (Also, as a side note, you would think that when you date a law graduate you would be taken, at least once, for a ritzy meal at Logan Brown. Don’t count on it.)

Anyway, this group of people, who are clearly bound for Courtenay Place, surround us saying “Oh girl, don’t you frown,” et cetera. Which is fine, don’t get me wrong. It was when they were sternly told to move on that they turned nasty, accusing us of being “fucking hipsters”.

Which led me to write this article. When did this warring commence? The town shirts versus the skinny jeans. Going to either a toga/foam/21st party or a gig, but not both. What is it about a stranger who follows a different trend that infuriates people enough to insult them on the street? Or make snide offhand comments insinuating that people not only do not know how to dress themselves to your satisfaction, but that this also reflects their intelligence, tastes, and promiscuity?

My experiences of Courtenay Place have been, to be honest, less than pleasant. A certain bartender tried to pash me on one memorable night. Later I was kicked out of Fringe Bar, which illustrates that his intentions were anything but noble. But as to the clothes others wear on these excursions, I am almost completely apathetic. When girls wear all white they look good under the ultra violet light of Public. In some bars you would feel underdressed wearing a second layer of clothing, no matter what time of year it is. In some groups it is unacceptable to look like you slept in a bush or purposefully ripped your tights. I understand. Everyone is different, everyone is the same, we wear clothes to please ourselves and others around us. Girl, you can wear whatever you feel like.

I might be wrong. Perhaps you can distinguish a person’s character from what they wear. Perhaps all girls in short skirts are looking for a hoon. I doubt it, but I could be wrong. Maybe the group who accosted us that night were on their way to Mighty.

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