On Fashion & Fashionism

Petunia the Evil One has recently posted what appears to be a blog entry. Do not be deceived, dear reader: this is an attempt to make you believe she is saying something important. The large pictures do more than demonstrate her incapacity for language: they affirm her desire to turn you into a brainwashed peasant.

Do you want to be a peasant? No, likely not. But there is nothing wrong with dressing like one. Petunia, you will notice with only a momentary glance, spews an ideology which can only be labelled as "Fashionism" - it is a system wherein rationality is tossed aside, and for a social hierarchy it relies on designer clothing, jewellry, makeup, scent, and other useless articles. In other words, you are placed as you dress.

I will not ramble on about the evils of fashion in the world: how it is a corruption of the human spirit, a degrading of the self into an object of mindless consumption and ignorant presentation. As if a logo might embody a state of mind, a belief, a principle, a movement - as if colour coordination equates to commitment to your fellow man or woman. Fashion is the disgusting result of our sick society's obsession with the superficial; and fashionism the hijacking of this en masse cultural stupidity as a means for Petunia and her collection of evil white cats to rule the world.

I shit you not.

We are in the grips of a coming struggle. Its spectre haunts Europe and rises with the moon. The countless fools who find meaning in collars, khakis, belts, and cowboy boots will soon witness the sky grow black; they will soon feel a tingle in their abdomen. It will all be too late, of course; for the black sky will be their forgotten mascara-drenched tears, and the tingle my 1972 Barbara Streisand Candle Collection Series 1 candle-putter-outer poker emerging from their stomach. And in the distance they will hear us laugh.

They will see it unfold as it has been foretold in the Blog of Revelations, last of the Blogosphere, and we three horsemen (looking for a fourth to make it more psychologically satisfying - applications still accepted...) will ride past the plain white gates into the New Valley of No Judgment where all wearable things are only worn for utility, and where global warming has ceased to be a problem because ignorant televsion-bashed brainless shitheads who overconsume for their own god damn feel-good shallow-minded piss-in-the-river-what's-it-to-me I'll-wear-what-makes-me-feel-sexy-and-good-about-myself-because-I-have-no-other-source-of-self-worth so let's-pollute-everything-and-buy-sweat-shop-but-YAY-DESIGNER fucking no-good self-centred mentality WILL BE FUCKING SHOT AND DROPPED IN THE CLEAR AND CLEAN RIVER!

But not into her trivial dogma. Fashionism will die. Join us now.

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Petunia is a fashion fascist and her horse is called Nad.

Dear reader,

First off, let me set the record (or any future record) straight by stating the following with as much clarity and gravitas a young (Jung) blogger can muster: I whole heartedly endorse every word printed beneath this post, on this particular web page (perhaps the finest i have seen [most specifically my own {which is not in anyway a slight against the others }}) and shall endeavor to not repeat was has been said with much elegance before my arrival.

So, what new do I have to add?

Firstly, this: Petunia is a fashion fascist. That is to say she exercises and attempts to enforce rigid restrictions on the sartorial expression (and similar arts) of those around her that are emblematic of a highly conservative, xenophobic view point. A view point indicative of one thing - fear. Petunia (a pleasant fellow in many ways) clearly fears the vivid, the surreal and especially the psychedelic. The harshest of her fascistic restrictions (and attempted punishments through humiliation tactics) are reserved especially for anachronistic items of fashionistic bliss. Well hear this Petunia, I will not be censored - for every rolled eye and sarcastic witticism or riff on colour-blindness (a genuine disability that should not be lampooned) or hippy-dom (refer to previous parenthesis) I will endeavor to up the ante! Long live the paint splattered v-neck!

Secondly, who is this Nad fellow? Has any one of us fair Revealators ever had the pleasure of a quibbling match or pun-dual with him? No. Have we ever viewed him (or even an effigy of him) with out the electronic interface? Thought not. Here, brothers (and reluctantly...sisters) is my explanation - Nad is not a man (or even a woman)...he is a horse. Why else would Petunia always wear cowboy boots? They aren't in fashion.

Much love,

DTD