FINANCIAL ADVICE IRRATIONAL FASHION

10th C

Early 19thC it is a good thing the boys have pockets and we don’t: we can run around the city shoving our fists into their denim cavities and stealing everything shiny, everything sharp. and we walk away free, our petticoats dragging through mud, cheeks flushed and chests warm, corsets stuffed with cash.

by Bruna Gomes

They must be petite And make not a sound, My satin-slippered feet, Both broken and bound. My face must be fair, Though I’m naturally gold. And I must grow my hair, But I may not grow old.

15th C

Chopines so tall, I totter and stomp, Just to keep the world small, While I look down with pomp. For I cannot get dirt

On the edge of my dress, When the state of my skirt Is what shows that I’m best.

17th C

My hair, not my own, Is only a wig. It is so overblown, For it has to be big. To show off my riches, I’ll keep it on, please. Though it’s so thick it itches, Infested with fleas.

Clad in a corset, I struggle to breathe. Like a switched off faucet, My lungs let naught leave. Though weighed down by petticoats That are held up by straps, My feet must still float, And my posture can’t lapse.

Late 19thC

I knock down a candle, With a hoop skirt so wide, That no-one can handle The immediate tide Of fires that sweep, Up the fabric in flames, While the steel rungs keep Me trapped in door frames.

20th & 21st C My clothes must be fitted To make me look thin. So pockets are limited, And fit nothing in. Instead I buy purses

To carry my things, And hold back my curses At zippers and strings.

I hope that more clothing Will soon be designed, With more than the one thing Of beauty in mind. We will not choose whether To feel good or look nice, But they’ll both come together, And not at a price.

by Kayleigh Greig