Shaved Sheep.

I suppose I should be wearing a smartly pressed haircut, hidden underneath an Obey cap. I should be dressed in skinny jeans tucked inside a pair of leather boots, as a v-neck t-shirt exposes my chest below the nipple line. I should be discussing the latest woes of Arsenal Football club, or chasing a collection of currently in-vogue celebrity endorsements. I should believe Cheryl Cole is attractive to the point of obsession, find Michael Mckintyre funny, own a 64 inch-television, a silver Mercedes, and play X-box games till midnight - as I down an army of Stella Artois. As I do all this, I should also throw out abbreivated terms clubbed together - such as Chillax, or Brangelina - as I tell everyone what I had for breakfast this morning on Twitter; it was Bran Flakes, as usual

Fuck that.

You see, I could do all these things, and feel as if the world is accepting me in turn; as I sacrifice my true interests, but it wouldn't be a true reflection of my character. Those haircuts look stupid, it is too damn cold for a v-neck, and while I agree on the boots, I sure as hell am not tucking them into my jeans. As far as the Obey cap is concerned, as soon as I realised the kids were not wearing them in iconic irony, I had to accept its replacement, of the 1990's Nike ticked shaved into people's head, as the dumbest example of how far societies will go, in order to feel as if they fit in. 

With the Arsenal team, they are all younger than me, and I have better things to do, than concern myself with the emotional welfare of millionaire teenagers - much less the Pringles or mobile phone networks they endorse; I stick with Orange, because it is cheap - David Beckham could dress as Elvis and do cartwheels, while fireworks shoot from his arse to spell the word 'Monkey', as he tells me to switch to Vodafone, and I still wouldn't switch to Vodafone. Cheryl Cole has vapid eyes, and looks one-dimensional, Michael Mckintyre presents a series of middle-class scenarios unrelated to my pikey-esque history - and milks his jokes way too long, in my view. A 64-inch High Definition Wayne Rooney scares me, and all cars go from A to B. I stopped playing computer games when Crash Bandicoot died, alcohol is for special occasions, and the English language is too beautiful to destroy; and no one needs to know what I had for breakfast.

I like shirts, dark blue jeans, funny looking winter hats and furry jumpers. I like listening to old music, talking about the taste of Mince Pies, the sheer tackiness of Darts quiz show, Bullseye, and watching Only Fools and Horses re-runs. I like clothes without labels, books nobody has ever heard of, and using terrible language in places where most people wouldn't - unless there are kids around, in which case I remain respectful. I like writing blogs about stupid things we humans do, and how we never seem to get it right - even though our meaning is generally positive. You could put me in a funny haircut and Only Way Is Essex get-up, but it would be like making a tone deaf fool sing at the Royal Opera House - he was never meant to be there, doing that, in that way.

I am not ripping into those who follow the trend - I am sure some genuinely like these styles. It is just not in my nature to follow the heard, I guess.But I am sure I am not alone in this. I cannot be the only one who rejects the notion of commercial acceptance, to find the real form that only truly ever matters - acceptance from within. These are all random thoughts, and this article is designed for some light reading on a cold winters evening. There is no right, there is not wrong, there is only the choices we make, and the consequences which arise from them.

But seriously, those Obey hats are fucking stupid...


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