Vogue..

Dear Ed,
Yes Sir I can boogie and I don't mind admitting that I am London's
number one dedicated follower of fashion. If it's in, it's on-me.
You name it Helmet Lang, Dirk Bickenberg, Prada, Gaultier, are just a
few of the labels that grace my vast collection. London fashion week
pah! Spend a week walking through my wardrobe. You can marvel at row
after row of the finest designer garments for every occasion, expertly
sectioned into yesterdays, todays and tomorrows styles. I also pride
myself in keeping with the latest hairstyles and visit my personal and
very famous hair stylist every week.
Being a trendsetter, as you can imagine, is a full time job and I
don't usually have enough time what with clubbing, modelling and social
events to write to magazines. However I feel it is my duty to warn the
fashion industry about the disaster that I unfortunately
suffered.
As I am being driven around town, visiting shops, clubs and partying,
I'm constantly looking for the latest fashion influences, so as per
usual I can be in first with the latest trend and the rest of the world
can follow.
Well last week whilst shopping down Great Molton Street, a favourite
haunt of mine, I noticed an increasing vogue in women's fashion:
BINDI'S. For you style philistines a Bindi is a small dot, dash, or
diamond-encrusted piece of polystyrene plastic, jewellery worn just
above but in between the eyebrows. Used in the Indian culture, this I
believe, represents the third eye of spirituality. However, recently it
is catching on with the more spiritual among us.
As per usual, being miles ahead, I have been spiritually minded for
the last five years, but up until now been unable to express my
spirituality through the medium of fashion. Then before my usual Friday
night of debauchery and hob knobbing with the stars I visited my
hairdresser for a manicure, facial and trim. With my locks wrapped in a
towel, suddenly it came to me, a TURBAN!
Quicker than you could say "Chicken Tika Massala", I was walking the
walk, talking the talk Indian stylee, with one eye scouting the horizon
for a beautiful Bindi babe. I was ready for a night of spirituality and
Sag Wala Chicken in those famous Balti houses of Brick Lane.
However things didn't go quite to plan. It wasn't my bed I awoke in,
or a beautiful babes but the intensive care unit of Fitzroy Nuffield
Hospital, private B.U.P.A. member mind you. It seems a gang of youths
did not take kindly to my trend setting vision.
I would strongly advise readers not to infringe on other races symbols
of religion, just to appear `a la mode. I've learnt the hard way, they
don't appreciate it.
But remember, if this style graces the front cover of any fashion mag,
like Neil Armstrong, I was there first.

See you on the Catwalk darlings,

Ofar Quarson.