Ideals of physical attractiveness are bound to change from culture to culture and generation to generation. Strolling through Berwick Street market in Soho this afternoon, I happened across these wares on display in a shop window – to see the individual pieces in closeup click here.
For someone of my generation it’s hard to imagine most of this stuff being anything other than excruciating to fit and deeply unattractive once in place. Which brings to mind John Travolta’s immortal question in Pulp Fiction:
Lance: Hey, whattya think about Trudi? She ain’t got a boyfriend. You wanna hang out, get high?
Vincent: Which one’s Trudi? The one with all the shit in her face?
Lance: No, that’s Jody. That’s my wife.
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