Ouch!

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for expressing your inner fashion freak and not starving yourself tying to look like the photoshopped models in glossy magazines, but surely there are more flattering outfits than tummy-hugging stretchy tops when your stomach is less than iron-board flat or tight white trousers when your legs and bum are a cellulite battle field, no?

What I really don't get is that people of all ages really think outfits such as the one in the picture below (I was punished for my bitchiness by the tram suddenly braking, hence the blurry resolution) do them any favour. Don't they have some well-meaning friend or relative who won't let them leave their house unless they change into something that is perhaps not more tasteful, but at least won't draw attention to their absolutely worst features? I wanted to cry when I saw this teenage girl:

And, no, the pram wasn't hers so it's just her own baby fat and not post-partum fat. That is beside the point, though.

There definitely is a reason why I always always choose my outfits the night before on work days and also check my rear view in the mirror if in doubt that I might scare the public with cellulite bumps, chicken wings or thunder thighs.

Politicians are talking about a burqa ban at the moment, but sometimes often I have daydreams about being some kind of Fashion Police crisis intervention officer who in one elegant swoop covers offensive clothing with vast quantities of cloth...