From South Ken to Shoreditch, from Jermyn Street to Mare Street – these days anyone that’s anyone is wearing red trousers.

If you want your leg-coverings to let the world know that you’ve got a few quid and don’t care who knows it, or that you have some big ideas about what’s on at the ICA right now - or simply that you are completely insane (but in a mainly non-stabby way) - then you’d better get your wife or girlfriend to take those jeans and chinos down to the charity shop post-haste!

Because there’s only one type of trousers you’ll be wanting to wear, and that’s RED TROUSERS. In fact - if you can’t wear red trousers you’d be better off wearing NO TROUSERS AT ALL. That’s what I say.

Sunday, 12 August 2012

"Wouldn't go in there for a bit if I were you..."


5 comments:

  1. Rather red in the face, clenched fists, has he got a touch of the Plymouths!!!!
    (Plymouth Argyle = Piles) No wonder you should give 15 mins......

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    1. I prefer 'Chalfonts' - Chalfont St Giles. He does look menacing. Did he thump the photographer?

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    2. Rockfords or Nurembergs are my favourites

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  2. His urgent vertical yellow braces, black belt, and tie's diagonal candy-stripes trisecting his placid blue shirt. Blocks of pink flesh and RTs capping and footing the piece. This man is a vision in geometric abstractionism of the De Stijl school: a living, breathing (and hopefully handwashing) Mondrian.

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  3. Hilarious!!!

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