Ok my mission is to wear as much James Long over fashion week as possible.
So its 1.30am on some Thursday, well Friday morning. Most people are sleeping; the odd wild child is up dancing on their bed with a bottle of Tenants Super in hand, various ‘un-conformers’ wondering the streets playing the Accordion and such like. Me, I’m on a coach in the middle of somewhere and somewhere else, in and out of a hazy dose, contemplating why, on numerous occasions of recent I’ve been mistaking for a rent boy. Now don’t get me wrong I find the ‘mistake’ somewhat flattering. The occurrences have just made my mind wonder what makes up the perfect attire for a rent boy?!?
Do the same rules apply to Rent Boys as they do to Call girls? I mean we’ve all seen the poor emaciated girls, hanging around the street corners, donning their bedraggled hot pants and Tankini combo dealing out sexual obscenities for the price of a packet of cigarettes. Then on the other hand there’s the high class ‘woman of leisure’ sipping their martinis ‘dirty’ in the main bar at the Ritz, wearing this seasons ‘it’ LBD that took her approximately one hour 15 minutes to save for.
Where my, slightly obscure thoughts are taking me is, Do these same generalisations apply to the Rent Boy and if so what type am I being mistaken for? I am partial to a glass of Dom Perignon however I also own a vast selection of Denim, short shorts.
I completely blame my mind wander on sleep deprivation, yet feel obliged to delve deeper, even if it is just for the sake of making my two and a half hour coach journey less static.
So where were we? Oh yes, what to wear on the job. Conclusions in this state of mind are sparse and far between, yet my poor overactive, uncontrollable mind is determined to find one. Say it’s a confidence thing, strutting around like a peacock in your Transparent T shirt and spray on micro shorts, topped of with the latest brogue boot and crumpled, hunter sock. I suppose in writing, yes, this could be the attire of a gentleman on the job. Still this same confidence seems to run through the stacks of grey sheep in their sweat pant, zip up combo, smoothed at the edges with hideous white socks and things they put on their feet, The same type of footwear that make me vomit in my mouth a little. I’m not discriminative the world is made up of all sorts.
The evening after the latest ‘mistake’ (mistake being some poor guy thinking I’m looking for work when truly I’m just trying to eat my lunch and saturate in some Vitamin D) I’m in a bar, still pondering how to spot the Rent from the spent. Then I notice this gangly, over chiseled, lonesome creature sipping his glass of iced water at the bar. That theoretical light bulb appears over my head like some tacky halo, quicker than I can verify my sanity. Still no longer than it takes me to think this, somewhat ridiculous mind discovery is now complete. I can’t help but think, me assuming this beautiful creature is some high class ‘pay for play’ makes me as naïve as my victims. And so I’m back to square one. The stupid thing is that at this hour and this many day after the originally brainstorm I’m struggling to contemplate why I started this ponder in the first place. It’s not like I don’t have enough to fill my mind, let alone spending far too many hours contemplating the ins and outs and definitions of a rent boy.
I suppose the only discovery I could possibly fall upon, is that it’s not something that can be applied tastefully. It has to merely be the confidence one acquires when completely happy in their own skin. Of course adding a more-skin-than-fabric attire into the equation makes it much easier for a ‘mistake’ to occur.
To be continued. Possibly!
Love, loves Rosie but I love her more.
I’m pretty sure after this cover shoot, she will possibly take over the world.