Recently in Glamour magazine a hundred or so men were polled as to what they liked to see women wearing. Obviously the answer to this quandary is “Who fucking cares? I’ll wear what the fuck I want.” however Glamour were desperate to fill space and deemed this group of anonymous men’s opinions worthy of a full page spread. Although I don’t have it to hand, it’s currently sitting on a bog top in Whitechapel, I do remember the number one outfit that men liked women in: a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt.

Well pass me a party popper and a glass of cava! Let’s chuck out everything else: fuck it I’m going to walk naked to Topshop right now as I don’t own either of those two items. In fact next Saturday, at 7pm sharp, I am throwing a bonfire on a scrap of wasteland in Hackney Wick for all our extraneous garments. Give me your tired wind breakers, your poor blouses! Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free of their lycra prisons! As the flames flicker we will roast marshmallows as we join hands and sing Paolo Nutini’s New Shoes before throwing glitter into the air. Now before you all think I’m getting a bit too outraged by an innocuous page of mangled photoshopped images of celebrities across the ages wearing this ground breaking outfit, I want to explain exactly what pisses me off about this article so much.

Being alluring to someone you want to fuck is obviously important. In no way am I against luring people to sleep with you. That’s fine. Equally I can understand wanting pointers on how to do that because it’s way difficult. However there is no one answer. The abhorrent ideas in this article is that there a) clothes that are boner killers, b) that you should tailor your wardrobe to cater to the tastes of 100 men Glamour picked off the street and c) that being sexy is the greatest accolade your wardrobe can attain.

Let’s address the first issue: clothing as boner killers. What exactly makes clothing sexy? When I think of sexy clothes I think of Rose McGowan’s 1998 MTV Awards dress or a PVC nurse outfit, two items that do as much for me sexually as a boiled egg. When lads mags think of sexy outfits it looks like this. And sure, if that does it for you: great. Finding suitable porn is going to be piss easy for you: just Google ‘boobs’ and you’ll be set. However if the internet has taught me anything it is that as many items of clothing there are, as many body types that exist, as many bodyparts as God saw fit to bless you with: there is a fetish for each and every one of them. It takes all sorts to make the world go round and one man’s High Street Honey is another man’s dog’s dinner. Therefore the idea that all it takes is a white t-shirt and jeans to make someone’s pants go ping is so patronising as to be infuriating. Once, while wearing a pastel yellow dress and some white knee socks in a bar and a man bellowed “You look sexy at me!” at me before rolling away drunkenly. I turned to my drinking companion and laughed, pointing out how infantile my outfit was. “Well, the thing is, people find all sorts of things sexy and I don’t think it’s fair to say that what you don’t find sexy is unsexy per se.” he rambled at me. “Sexy is very subjective and so I don’t think it’s right to mock his idea of your attractiveness.” I believe my reply was the incredibly erudite “Er. Thanks?” He was, though totally inarticulate, utterly right. Sexy is an incredibly subjective concept, and so we are not going to discuss it anymore or I’ll start going on about how I find peacoats and a certain cut of jeans make my knees go weak and you’ll all scrinch your eyes up and get confused then stop reading.

On to point b: your clothes should serve only to bewitch potential dates. To that I say: fuck that shit. When I dress in the morning I want to look nice, cute, fun, sure, yeah all that crap. I also want to make sure that I won’t be drenched in sweat while riding my bike, or have my boobs falling out everywhere at an important meeting. There are times when I dress just to cheer myself up. I have a pastel jumper with an intarsia knitted balloon on it that does an incredibly good job of this. Other times I just want to get to the supermarket and back without dying of hypothermia. It sounds cliched to say it but I really do dress mostly for me. The way I want to look is somewhere between Betty Brosmer with her clothes on and the youngest kid out of the Narnia film adaptations, not exactly an heady cocktail of sex and intrigue but a look I like never the less. Even with such niche clothing choices I have managed to get laid. I’ve managed it more than once, and sometimes I manage it more than once with the same person. Please note: I have not worn a pair of jeans in the last 6 years. Shocking isn’t it? How ever did I manage it while also refusing to wear high heels? Maybe I should write to Glamour and ask them because I sure as fuck don’t know. Back to the point. What I want to say is that you don’t need to dress for men. Wear what you want, when you want, and as long as you’re not arrested for public indecency/don’t injure yourself, everything is going to be ok. Promise. If not, it’s probably not the clothes love.

And finally we come to the crux of the matter, being sexy is not everything. It is not even a large part of a thing. It is just something that is sometimes noticed by some people who find that sort of thing attractive. You don’t have to be sexy when taking the bins out. There is no need to be sexy when eating your dinner. And even when you’re having sex it’s ok to laugh, just as long as it’s not at someone else’s genitals. To paraphrase a cliche: sexiness is in the eye of the beholder. So if you’re wearing your white t-shirt and jeans and feel shit hot, great. If you’re wearing a flower patterened drop crotch dungaree and a tie-dye t-shirt and feel sexy, wahoo for you too. Wear what you like, feel sexy when you like, and fuck what the man in the street says: he’s not worth your time anyway.

First two pictures I don’t know where they’re from, the 3rd picture is of the wonderful Hattie Watson.

Although I’ve tried to keep if fairly under wraps I must admit my taste in films and music runs to the cheesy. There are few things that make me happier than watching Lover Come Back or The Girl Can’t Help It for the umpteenth time, and so it is with great joy I am sharing one of my favourite movies of all time with you: Gidget.

Not to be confused with the books, tv series, Taco Bell promoting dog, or Marilyn Manson bassist, Gidget is a summery, sunny story of diminutive girl surfer Frances aka Gidget and her love of surfing and surfer boy Moondoggie . I hope some of you are still reading after the word ‘Moondoggie’ because, honestly, this film is a real gem. The plot is pretty simple: tomboy Gidget goes to the beach with her bikini clad friends and becomes interested in surfing much to the chagrin of an all-male surfer gang; but the hi-jinks, appalingly bad special effects, and Sandra Dee’s effervescent performance elevate it above some of the contemporary more  braindead beach films.

For one Gidget is no eyelash batting jitterbug despite being played by the squarer than square Sandra Dee. She is a fearless teen stuck between the being a carefree child and a boy crazy adolescent, prim but feisty, innocent but smart, and most of all utterly adorable.

One of the refreshing things about this film is how there is no great ‘make-over scene’ and that Gidget’s character and look remain unchanged at the end of the film and yet she snags the boy! It’s almost unbelieveable to think that a character that is over and over again pointed out to be immature, dorky, and ‘too cute’ could be nevertheless be attractive and come out on top at the end of the film but that’s just what happens. Admittedly this film has a whole slew of cringe inducing moments including when Gidget’s mum tells her that a woman’s greatest job is to bring out the best in her man, as well as a fair deal of subtle slut shaming, but well, you get everything from a 1959 surf movie can you?

Flaws aside it was with Gidget’s one-pieces in mind that I decided to feature it in Make It a Date. Looking over her sometimes bizarre swimwear choices it made me realise that we neither need to wear a revealing bikini, nor a filmy sarong on the beach to look nice and that sometimes beachwear can be just that. Gidget’s flattering conservative swimsuits were generally paired with sandals and a simple hooded jacket thrown over the top, and feel like the perfect antidote to the leopard print super 70s retro glam that is being pushed upon swimwear buyers from all angles lately.

When out of the water Gidget stays true to her WASP roots and dresses in a feminine, if slightly saccarine manner. When I saw her repeatedly throw a chunky boxy cardigan over a pretty evening dress I am not ashamed to say I squealed with delight. It is something I do all the time and I’m glad to see that it looks as good as I thought it did, althought admittedly I’m no Sandra Dee.

Even if you don’t watch Gidget and I’m sure most of you won’t, I think the most important thing to take away from the film style-wise is that we are at our most attractive when we are being ourselves, even if that is a tantrum prone prissy surfer.

I fucking love the idea of matchy matchy dressing with my boyfriend. In fact it’s something I try to trick him into doing regularly, but he’s yet to fall for it and was rather annoyed with me when we left his house last weekend in almost matching scarves. I, conversely, punched the air with glee.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want us to look like creepy twins, or like that couple who wear one red one green Converse each that Alexander Fury keeps seeing in Tesco, but there’s something fun and ridiculous about being part of a secret gang of sorts who wear the same clothes and do the same shit. I love secret gangs: I used to wish when I didn’t have anyone to ride my bike with that I could get a whole gang of friends and dress them up in leather jackets, then we’d ride around and maybe find a secret island like in Swallows and Amazons, and hang out there for the afternoon. Come on! Who doesn’t want a secret gang? Handshakes and haircuts, secret words and songs, imagine it!

If you think about it being in a relationship with someone is a bit like being in a secret gang as long as you do it right. The best things about secret gangs are how everything cool you do is exclusive and under wraps. So if you and your boyfriend call each other pet names, or have private jokes, it becomes 100000000% less cool and fun when you say them in front of people. This goes double for dressing up. While Halloween is the one day of the year this advice/rule/whatever can take a hike, I want you first to look at Dough Reinhardt’s face and think twice before you dress as the tooth fairy and a… ummm…. depressed molar?

I find that most people and pets find being dressed up like an amusing toy incredibly humiliating no matter how much I’m, er I mean, you’re enjoying it which is a damned shame. Although, duh, your boyfriend isn’t a toy some days it would really be a lot better if he just let you do his mascara, draw a glitter lightning bolt on his face, and squeeze into some co-ordinating platforms, because then the two of you could act out some sweet as fuck Bay City Rollers videos. Or you could wear matching suits and pretend to be city boys. Or put on wigs and pretend to be Lady Gaga and her reflection. The possibilities are ENDLESS.

Just remember the secret gang’s rule: keep it indoors, because then no-one can laugh at you.

Pictures from Fuck Yeah Cute, I Love Pugs, and Jezebel

At the age of 9 I could hardly understand the not so subtle sexual tone of the book, but I loved Nana for bucking the system in every way she could, and having a bed surrounded by blue drapes and carved cherubs. Now, having read the book countless more times I love her pig headedness, her sharp tongue, and her girlish gaudiness. Had she been moved from the 1800s to now, I’d like to think her look would be perfect for any hopeful cocotte.

While Nana is a courtesan and proud of it she is always anxious to distance herself from the street walking friends she once had in looks as well as attitude. So while her taste runs to gaudy, (and what can be gaudier than D&G?) she is also effortlessly chic in that sickeningly Parisian way that I can only dream of. The main effect of a Nana-esque look should be a polished exterior concealing the minx within. Or rather as Henry James said: “instead of saying of Nana that it contains a great deal of filth, we should simply say of it that it contains a great deal of nature.” and you can’t go wrong when you act natural…

Further reading:
Wikipedia
Amazon

In this vein I have decided to start plundering some of the best date-worthy looks from my favourite movies, starting with Rachel out of Blade Runner. Now, admittedly, I watched half of this on a tiny telly at ATP back in November, and the rest of it yesterday afternoon, but I can firmly say that style wise this is one of the best films I have ever ever ever seen. Rachel’s sharp retro-futuristic look is to totally die for.

See? Even as someone who doesn’t normally wear shoulder pads I am salivating over that suit. Although the steep lines and close cut may seem hard to handle, there’s nothing better than the savvy cut of a tight skirt to make you swing your hips as you walk. Here are some pieces to take Rachel’s razor clean tailoring from the celluloid world into date territory:

As for the make-up, well, ok, there’s a lot of it, but hey, if it’s a first date ‘look don’t touch kind of thing’ (I hear they happen…) then you are totally in luck.

Thick brows, dark smudged eyes, and flushed cheeks provide a striking backdrop for the most delectable scarlet glossy lips. Just grab the items below and start working on your best thousand mile stare.

Bobbi Brown No Smudge Mascara in Black
Benefit Non Fiction Liquid Foundation in Volume 1
Shiseido Eyebrow and Eyeliner Compact in BL2 Deep Brown
Nars Blush in Super Orgasm
Smashbox Jet Set Waterproof Eye Liner in Midnight Purple
MAC Lipglass in Russian Red
Nails Inc Nailpolish in The Hurlingham
Benefit Velvet Eyeshadow in Rich Beach

So there you go, no LBDs, nude lipstick, or control underwear, just pure genetically engineered hotness!! Now all you have to do is get out the hairpins and anchor down those ginormous victory rolls…

Although wearing childish clothes could imply I’m some sort of infantilised, sexless, girl-child, forever trying to recapture a youth I never really had, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t want to start deconstructing my outfit choices because I dread turning this post into Pseuds Corner, but it seems that both men and women are obsessed with judging people on the way they dress. It is apparently imperative that we all have a distinguishable look, one that is solid, unchangeable, and instantly recognisable. There is not scope for moods, changes of attitude, or concessions to comfort. If you want to look sexy, and attract men for one night stands (it appears) you need to wear something short, tight, or low-cut, and preferably all three. If you wear glasses you could maybe be a ‘sexy secretary‘ (extremely NSFW link!!! hint: it features a video of adult star Sasha Grey) but if you fail that test you’re relegated to quirky, cutesy, or worse: interesting. Wait, you can only be one of these things by the way! If you were both things surely that would mean you were not only sentient and possibly interesting but also a sexual creature. Madness. We all know these things can’t go hand in hand.

I’m not saying men get off much better than women in this ridiculous charade, however the manners in which men have to dress to be considered sexy, seem to be a lot less time consuming than they are for women. Really everyone gets a bum deal, forcing us all to either feel dour and neutered or constantly on and aware of our sexuality. What we need to do is recognise that much like with sex itself different things can make different people’s heads turn. Whether its a ruffle along a neckline, or an pea-coat hitting a hipbone at a certain angle there’s something to float everyone’s sartorial boat.