Well, you call them slappers? | Alex Clark | Comment is free | The Observer

Quote:

Women of Britain: this party season, have you tippled too freely, unexpectedly had sex with someone you probably shouldn't have and woken up in an unfamiliar part of town looking like Death's Head at the Feast? Of course you have! Haven't we all? But worry not! Harvey Nichols shares your pain and is here to help you: perhaps not with the anxieties about unwanted pregnancy or sexually transmitted diseases or the horror that your knee-trembler with the boss will get round the office before elevenses, but certainly with the most important thing – your morning-after look. And boy, do you need it, judging by the state of you. Harvey Nichols's "Walk of Shame" ad campaign, all the rage on our screens last week, does not present an alluring picture of contemporary womanhood, with its collection of party animals blinking into the grey morning light, struggling, not always successfully, to keep atop their ludicrous heels, wrenching inadequate scraps of cheap material over shivering, ungovernable bodies in a last-ditch attempt at modesty. What has happened to that poor lady to make her rush up the grimy urban underpass, ruched skirt riding up between her ample thighs, stopped in her tracks only by the need to vomit? What company has the woman with the disturbingly laddered tights been keeping to make her look so furtively about her as she takes her leave? And will anyone ever give that skinny wretch a jacket to put over her trembling shoulder blades as she weaves perilously towards the tube? If only she and her fellow representatives (only there are no fellows, obviously) of binge-drink Britain had immersed themselves in the luxury shopping experience that HN offers in London, Bristol, Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham, Dublin and Edinburgh. They might have availed themselves of a sophisticated velvet dress from Lanvin (£2,215), a witty little Vivienne Westwood number (£1,050) or a seductive strapless Roland Mouret (£1,995). Instead, they've been forced to forage in the bargain bins at the crappy end of the high street and all so they can blow the rest of their budgets on Bacardi Breezers and entrance into dodgy nightclubs where they meet even dodgier geezers. Only one escapes this undignified fate: the sylph-like, smooth-tressed woman who has practised enough restraint to glide effortlessly in her elegant golden dress towards her riverside mansion block, pausing merely to give the postman a cheeky sidelong glance. She, thank God, has turned the Walk of Shame into the Stride of Pride and she doesn't even seem to mind that she's done it while dressed in a curtain. When I first saw WoS, I was briefly thrilled to note that women were now, apparently, allowed to go out all night, kick their heels up and even indulge in a bit of slap and tickle with a passing reveller without getting lectured half to death. Then I realised that there was a hideous price to be paid: that if you didn't make sure you did it in the right clothes, you would seem not like a hellraising femme fatale but a sad, fat slapper. And in the twinkling of an eye, a host of neuroses rises up to bite us on our bums: party dress fear, fear of flesh, fear of sexual desperation, fear of humiliation just as we think we're at our most gorgeous. Meanwhile, Harvey Nichols's fear – that the success of its profile-raising efforts of the past few years have nudged it worryingly close to Towie territory – goes unarticulated. But the ad leaves one question dangling and it's a question that you'll have to look deep into your heart to answer. Who would you really rather be? My favourite of the dishevelled ladies, for example, is captured sitting in a bus shelter stuffing her face with some unidentifiable fast food. This, clearly, is meant to make your heart sink. But why? Our friend has had a night out and is now enjoying a delicious breakfast to boot! Whereas Curtain Lady looks like she's grazed on some high-class dim sum, caught a subtitled film at the ICA and finished off with an appletini in a members' only bar. In other words, no bloody fun at all.

I was interested in this because it seems to capture a trend - middle-class indulgence = fine, poor peoples' indulgence = dangerous, immoral and a threat to the fabric of society. Chips = health risk. Pret mayonnaise baguette with extra mayonnaise and a mayo smoothie to go = no big deal.

Of course, this was always the case, but BITD it used to be very open: drink is morally bad for you etc. Now it's "drinking too much is risky".

__________________
Standard disclaimer: the disgusting statements contained in this post are the views of the poster, and unless specified do not represent the views of the moderators or the site's owners.