It’s that fabulous time of the year again. The annual pilgrimage to Melbourne Park for the Australian Open has commenced.
For me, there is something wholly refined about watching a sport quietly, with a cry of enthusiasm only escaping your lips when the tension has built to such a crescendo that you (and several thousand of your new sporting best buddies) cannot help but exclaim at the skill and athleticism on display.
I have been attending the tennis for over twenty years, and so consider myself somewhat well placed to deliver a little bit of fashion commentary from the sidelines. Sadly, as with many a sporting event, there are some fashion crimes on display.
There are the perma-tans, with limbs so orange that the word ‘oompa loompa’ comes to mind.
The young girls (who often need to consider their body shape) in cut-off denim shorts that are so brief much of their derriere is exposed to the masses.
But what really gets my goat is the dinosaur. The creature that, knowing full well she will be walking over a large distance and doing a fair amount of standing, commits to wearing stiletto heels so high that rather than walk normally, she adopts the lurching, bent-knee gait akin to a tyrannosaurus-rex.
These ladies get points for effort, but I have developed anxiety attacks observing them trying to make it down the stairs at Rod Laver Arena during the change of ends. For those that haven’t observe the sprint, you have two minutes to get to your seat, going up and down steep and narrow stairways. It is precarious.
Sadly, they have clearly not been paying attention to the latest ‘normcore’ trend. They would otherwise have twigged that to wear an entirely suitable pair of Nikes is not only practical, but considered at the cutting edge of street fashion.
Please try it. It would take my anxiety levels down a peg or two…