Salad Days

A delightful group of Bretons who are happily reliving St Malo's salad days. We did not have such charming costumes in 1970s Australia.
A delightful group of Bretons who are happily reliving St Malo’s salad days during the Carnival de St Malo. We did not have such charming and authentic costumes in 1970s Australia.

Salad Days – WordPress Daily Challenge

I was born in 1970. This meant that I had no control over what I could buy or wear throughout one of the most appalling decades of style ever seen in the history of human evolution. I know that certain hipsters returning from thrift shops clutching items from the 1970’s that sadly escaped incineration believe themselves fashionistas by wearing vile nylon shirts in eau de nil or mustard coloured corduroy jackets with worn leather elbow patches, but when it was your parents who chose your clothes during the time that fashion forgot, such items inspire only horror in their reincarnations.

My “salad days” were remarkable for the appalling items of clothing chosen by my doting parents, flares, tie die t-shirts and bucket hats so deep that they had coloured discs inserted in the brim to look through.

My most traumatizing clothing item was a pair of lederhosen brought back from Germany of a grey leather so stiff that I could hardly bend and with huge buttons that held together a flap at the front that needed the strength and dexterity of a male chimpanzee to open when nature called. The decorative piping and tassels on the shoulder straps did not lesson my mortification of being required to wear it in first grade and it was only that the rest of the poor children in the class had also been dressed by parents of the 70s that I escaped relatively unnoticed. Thankfully I had an accident in them while trying to prise open the leather flap and they disappeared from my wardrobe.

My “salad days” were 70s salad days, mixed bean, coleslaw and potato. Old days they were, but good? Hmmm.



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