Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Braiding Bad

    Guess who forgot to move back in to the left lane on a dual carriage way during their second driving test? Me. Following this pathetic failure, I was also diagnosed with tonsillitis, so as you can see it's been a great week so far. Luckily for me it's only Tuesday. Even though I managed to leave a gaping hole in my bedroom door after yet another fit of rage, I decided that I hadn't yet entirely released my anger. So I have come back to the place where I find it the easiest to express my hatred towards the World. In a desperate attempt to forget about the last few days of my life, I thought I should tell you about my much more enjoyable weekend. Farringdon was where I ventured to last Friday night, and aside from the overly large pupils of 99.9% of the people at Fabric, there was one other thing that stuck out like a sore thumb. French plaits. Or braids, whatever you want to call them. They're long, there's two of them and they're certainly a problem. Now, I'm not going to argue completely against this trend which has been around since the days that I (yes, surprising, I know) performed in dance concerts, pretending to know what I was doing whilst waddling around completely out of time with the two left feet that I was blessed with. Although, it does sadden me that this innocent, adorable hairstyle has been transformed from something that you would see frequently on 'Dance Moms' in to the trademark for a try-hard 'raver' girl. These two plaits, so tightly stitched to the skull that they look as though migraines are part of the package when wearing them, wouldn't be a problem if paired with a decent outfit. However, along with this hair style seems to come the compulsory septum piercing, nike socks, studded fanny pack, vintage Levi jeans and of course, the no-ker. If you have the burning desire to do something different with your hair, trust me, I get it, (I had the same problem when I idiotically decided to shave a section of mine off a few years ago leaving me with a tuft of embarrassment where my undercut used to be). But please try and keep the outfit choice a tad less typically 'hipster' unless you're trying to tell the World that you think you're sick because you shop in Shoreditch, you have a tumblr, you like instagramming pictures of your lunches at quirky restaurants, you probably start your tweets with lower case letters and you most certainly partake in the use of drugs all in a hopeless bid to appear as a non-conformist. Off I go to drown myself in antibiotics. 


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