As a young man in Poole in 1977, one only had to walk down the high street in straight jeans and a short haircut to draw enough attention to yourself to get a beating.
Fashion was such that decisions to stand out, re; clothing norms, dyed hair etc, had to be considered beforehand in consideration for the social opprobrium that it may elicit. (And I remember my friends mother taking a fit of the vapours on returning from the supermarket where she had seen a man shopping IN SHORTS!)
Youngsters these days, (now THERE'S a phrase!) genuinely have no idea what that meant. I imagine that there are still locals around the provinces that go out of their way to take exception to an individual's attire, but I suspect that's arbitrary, and not in the same vein as the witch-hunt knee-jerk of days gone by.
I mention this, as living in a time where the lines have well and truly become blurred on the apparel front, where it is insufficient to don a studded leather jacket and boast a blue mohican to expect it to be read as a statement.
Imagine my surprise therefore to be confronted by the sight of a young black guy moving through Kings Cross this morning in an enormous Afro. Now that was a stand out statement, and certainly not a everyday occurence. Well done that man! Hurrah!
Cue wah wah pedal and Soul Train dancing!
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