Off The Rails Farm Style
Nell Frizzell ploughs her furrowed brow
Off The Rails: Farm Style
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Listen, OK. I don’t particularly mind if people want to dress like munitions workers or early period Pentangle. And, you know, if looking like Robert Plant is your thing, or if you really do admire the sartorial leanings of mime artists then be my guest, knock yourself out.
But dressing like a farmer? Are you kidding me? Have you ever been to the countryside? It’s hardly a hot bed of alternative culture and radical thinking out there. I mean, this is the place where ‘subculture’ means a bovine bacterial infection.
Since we entered this brave new millennium I have stood aghast as those around me have dressed, first, as American mid-western hog farmers, replete with foam and mesh caps, plaid shirts and badly executed tattoos. Then, when I thought it couldn’t get much worse, suddenly everyone threw off their hickwear and started dressing like port-swilling members of the landed gentry: Barbour jackets, Hunter wellies, cricket jumpers and tweed.
I mean, looking like you spend your days leaning up against a grain silo picking the shit off your boots is one thing. But dressing like a retired Tory minister, who spends their days standing in fields waiting for the local teenagers to scare up enough hand-reared pheasants that you couldn’t help but hit one using a large bit of gravel, is quite another.
Come on people, where’s your sense of glamour, of adventure, of the subversive? Dressing like a fat, tweedy farmer is about as sexy as checking the fallopian tubes of a cow bare-handed, and about as shit.
Posted on Friday 5th February 2010
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