Satire column by Tinderella
Our Agony Aunt is here to help readers navigate the choppy waters of modern society.
A fashion victim has reached out to me regarding her angst.
Dear Ella,
I am disconcerted, discombobulated and in disarray. This has caused me to become disagreeable, disappointed, dismayed and disconsolate. Most distressing of all is that my discernment has disappeared, by which I mean my taste in matters à la mode. It all started with a little tattoo of a dolphin on my ankle. I got the idea from the wife of a horrid Tory politician, but please don’t tell anyone, as I would never live it down. That tattoo got me many flattering compliments from my trendy friends, to which I soon became addicted. Since that fateful day I slowly but surely became extensively inked. I progressed to piercings, nose rings, face furniture, ginormous holes in my earlobes the size of dinner plates; you name it, I’ve had it done. Makeup is of course terribly important to me; the slightest blemish ruins my entire day. I spend hours perfecting my appearance before I venture outdoors. Yet the more I try to impress people with my increasingly extravagant displays, the more they laugh at me. It has got so bad that the type of hip guys who used to ask me out now avoid me like the plague. I’ve composed a poem about my misery. I languish forlorn and await your guidance.
Fashion
I’ve always loved to follow fashion
It’s my all-consuming passion
My lipstick’s black, my makeup ashen
My nails fluorescent, purple, flashing
My hair is pink and blue and green
And held in place with vaseline
My body’s pierced with bolts and screws
And titivated with tattoos
I wander round in anoraks
Ray-Bans, fake fur and shapeless sacks
Androgynous and gender fluid
I get mistaken for a druid
My hair is yellow, red and blue
Kaleidoscopic rainbow stew
My earlobes forever stretching
I think that they look rather fetching
Taking selfies all the while
Updating my Facebook profile
Haughty, aloof, I never smile
The boys I fancy run a mile
My hair is orange, green and red
In Technicolor on my head
I fear my piercings are too many
I jangle when I spend a penny
Yours despondently,
Desdemona
Ella’s sage advice to Desdemona and a remarkable outcome will be published in the August edition of our printed Freedom magazine. If you haven’t already done so, please consider subscribing to our magazine and recommending it to others. Many thanks!
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