9th BGJ Blog Entry

Fashion, From A Penis' Point Of View - March 29th, 2005 - 07:49 AM.

So. I'm male. While some of you might question the validity of that statement, it's true. Why is it then that I have such a keen eye for what women should wear in normal day-to-day life?  Ask our mascot. (The original BGJ website was for a pseudo-fraternity, and we had a mascot.)  She'll tell you. Just last Wednesday, or maybe Thursday, she came by the Frathouse and asked if I'd like to go shopping with her. You know, to get out of the house a bit and get some fresh air and such. Then, just before we're leaving, she drops the bomb regarding where we're actually going. Oh, we're going shopping alright - at a Fairweather clearance store! Yahoo, lots for me to do there! I can spend some real quality time in the electronics department...what am I talking about, there IS no electronics department! There is nothing there but women's clothing! There aren't even any shoes...  So, I ask myself, why am I here, because if there is to be any interest for me in this, well wubba-wubba-wubba-where the fuck is it? Those of you who know who I'm imitating, you know why I'm shaking my head at this point, and why my fingers are madly bouncing in opposite directions. You also probably know how my mind pronounced the words 'shoes.' Those of you uncertain of this should become immediately familiar with Lewis Black. A lot about me will become clear if you watch an hour of Lewis Black on DVD. But that's for another time...  The reason, as it turns out, that I'm in a women's discount fashion mecca, is that, as the mascot puts it, I have an incredible 'queer eye.' Thank you, oh innovation of the 1950s, for allowing me to be saddled with a description based on a show which airs on you that is the product of a table of executives at one of the major networks discussing how they could cash in on the sudden popularity of being a semi-invisible minority in the modern world, and make the public eat it up like lobster. But that's also for another time...  The thing is that, even without any fashion expertise, a member of the male species is quite able to help a woman pick out clothing that accentuates her assets. It's just that we don't like being forced to do so, because a month down the road when we're being asked if that skirt with the butterscotch flower print makes her look fat, well, we're fucked. And women know that we're fucked, and they like the fact that we're fucked, and they want to keep us in that position as long as humanly possible.  After an agonizingly painful hour-and-a-half, our mascot came away with some incredible new outfits, mostly thanks to yours truly, and while I had trouble walking afterwards, I am glaad I could be of some service. That isn't a typo; it is, rather, a humourous jibe at my new nickname, Queer fucking Eye! That's what she won't stop calling me! We go down to Blue Jays Way to grab lunch at the wonderful Leone's (related to Toronto landmarks), and she's calling me Queer Eye at the fucking table! I give up!  In the end, men, just follow these basic rules when stuck in a bargain house of sleeveless blouses and summery skirts: Don't let her buy anything black (there isn't a woman I know who doesn't have too much black in her wardrobe), keep light colours upward and dark colours downward, and make sure that at least one really bright piece of apparel goes through at the check-out counter. It isn't nuclear physics, it's just common fashion sense, and any man who can keep his mind off his Percy long enough to notice the world around him should be able to notice that these truths are valid.  Damnit, I am a fashion fag...  Oh...fuck it. Go put a flower print on, you're bothering me. And pull up your pants.