Step Across the Gender Divide - But Tread Carefully

I stopped worrying about gender roles years ago. I'm quite happy to be going to watch Mamma Mia tomorrow night which, I am told is as "...camp as a boy scout jamboree". I'll happily sing along to the songs that blighted my childhood, and I shan't worry about growing lady parts.

But sometimes I do worry whether this 'being in touch with my femininity' has gone a bit far. Take this week for example: watching Ten Years Younger I was discomfited to hear myself say, when top hairstylist Andrew Barton had performed his almost alchemical contradiction to the saw that you cannot make a silk purse from a sows ear, "Oooh that's a nice cut isn't it" and it was. But I do feel that perhaps it should have been Mrs C that said it whilst my role was confined to a glance over the top of my newspaper and non committal grunt that signified that whilst I was prepared to be a partner in watching these predominantly female targeted programmes, I wasn't set on it being an equal partnership.

Similarly, watching Gok Wan's Fashion Fix (again in another moment of marital mateyness) I was surprised to find myself astounded by the apparent preference, of an audience of 'normal women' for Gok's economical fashion fixes rather than clothes costing many thousands of pounds and designed by from some of the worlds best. I mean, even a brute like me could tell that the cloth in the frocks alone cost as much as my car.

But then there was light at the end of the tunnel and I stopped worrying about my masculinity. It seemed that I had missed the point entirely (huge sigh of relief); it was all about empowering women to reject the style stereotypes thrust on them by the fashion fascists and rather be influenced by them to do their own thing.

Gosh.

I think in future, I'll make sure there's a copy of The Grauniad to hide behind, just in case.

Oxfam Chic - At A Price

I am not noted for my sartorial elegance, nor for my interest in fashion matters; but, whilst crossing Manchester city centre the other day, my eye was caught by two young people dressed in what I would term Oxfam chic. The phrase deriving from the need of young people to dress stylishly, yet affordably, by searching out second hand clothes emporiums and charity shops. Indeed this was a method of clothing I adopted whilst a student nurse - though, if you ask Mrs C, it was more Oxfam than chic. I was known to wear an ensemble consisting of a RAF great coat, boilerhouse overalls or any other combination of mismatched, discarded garments adopted and adapted from Oldham's flea market. So it was with a fond smile that I viewed these two happy young people tripping carefree through the city streets. Until, that is, I spotted the carrier bag over the arm of the pretty young female; a bag emblazoned with the logo of Viviene Westwood.

"Isn't she one of those fancy expensive designers?" I asked myself; and getting no comprehensible reply hopped off to the expensive part of town to do some journalistic research on behalf of my readers.

Stepping out of my comfort zone (Marks and Spencer) and into the hallowed halls of Harvey Nicholls (where I felt I ought to pay just to cross the threshold), not finding what I wanted and having the burning gaze of people who could tell at a glance that I didn't belong, I left and continued my research in the classy part of town around King St and St Anne's Square. There I found Hervia; a quick peep through the window and I knew immediately that the down at heel appearance of my two student types was nothing more than an expensive copy of the real thing.

Needing reassurance that all was not lost in the world of clothes, I trecked back across town to the seamier, but far more interesting area around Oldham Street - where, incidentally, sits my most favourite of shop names: a body modification and piercing parlour entitled 'Holier than thou' - and went into Affleck's Palace the home of alternative clothing, alternative jewellery, alternative music and alternative haircuts. I sighed happily, transported for a moment back to my youth, as I saw that Oxfam Chic still existed and far surpassed the expensive imitations of King St.