This week’s writing prompt is:
COMICS
When I was a young girl, I loved comics. There was something special about the comic-strip stories and I fell in love with the characters. I started out with Twinkle comic and then moved on to Bunty as I grew older. I especially loved the cut-out dolls. I also read the odd copy of The Beano and The Dandy. How about you? Do you have happy memories of Dennis the Menace, Desperate Dan and other fantastic characters?
You don’t have to share your work, but I always enjoy seeing what you come up with if the prompt gives you inspiration. Here is the work you shared on last week’s prompt FASHION.
In the neon glow of the city,
where fluorescent lights pulse like a strobe,
the streets become a catwalk,
a rhythm of denim and daring.
Shoulder pads rise like skyscrapers,
towering in boardrooms,
while lace and sequins sway
beneath the disco ball’s embrace,
a glittering promise of the night to come.
Spandex hugs every curve,
“Girls just wanna have fun,”
echoes beneath the thump of bass,
muted by the sound of leather boots
clacking against the pavement—
a fashion revolution,
unapologetically bold.
Hair, defying gravity,
big and wild,
like the dreams of the youth who wore it,
ratted and teased,
a canvas of rebellion,
like graffiti on the walls of conformity.
Pastel suits brushed with hints of flamboyance,
neon tights creeping up calves,
a riot of color
spilling into the mundane,
where no shade is too loud,
no pattern too outrageous.
Ray-Bans shield eyes
from the sun and the ordinary—
a statement, a shield,
“Don’t look at me, or do,
I’m a tapestry of the unexpected.”
Punk whispers from the sidelines,
piercings glint in the twilight,
while Madonnas dance with fervor,
striking a pose,
an anthem of self-expression,
the fabric of identity stitched
in threads of velvet and vinyl.
And as the curtain falls,
the legacy remains—
daring and dissonant,
a kaleidoscope of memory unspooling,
the 80s live on,
in closets of the daring,
in whispers of vintage and avant-garde,
a reminder stitched in fabric,
that to wear one’s heart
is the ultimate style.
My parents did not buy my clothes to fit the fashion as I grew up, so I’ve never known any different than dressing for comfort. The one item I remember wearing that was “popular” was red snap jeans in the ‘70’s. Shoe fashion was different. I wore platforms when they were in style, but now because of my health issues, I wouldn’t dare lest I twist a knee or fall off of them.
I never was a follower of fashion. Sure I had ‘best clothes’ for special occasions, but I have always dressed for comfort more than the latest style. These days I live in joggers and tees. I own one posh frock, worn once to a wedding in July 2017, and a couple of skirts. I am still wearing tops from my banking days (left in 2001) which still fit. Trainers adorn my feet, though I do have a pair of posh sandals, again worn once so far, but to a funeral not a wedding.
Fashion Failure
I must have been my mother’s despair! Herself a fashion guru, ahead of even the latest styles and modes, going to work in shocking striped hot pants, heading out to the dance floor with the wide-flared black and white skirts – she was, and still is, the epitome of style and elegance. A gifted seamstress along with all her abilities she had a daughter with whom to share all things clothes!
Seriously, I let the side down. With my head in a book anything like lifting knitting needles was just too much hard work. In school all my attempts during enforced needle work classes were abysmal unfinished failures. Why, oh why, I begged the teachers couldn’t I do woodwork, hammer away, use a wrench, I could only dream of the joy of handling a saw. It was not to be.
Weekends were a race to be dressed. In a hurry to go out and play adventure games in the fields and woods I would throw on anything to hand. The garish ill-matched combinations have me squirming in shame now. Luckily, my mother soon found a compromise to unsightly dressed me as on Friday evenings she left out my weekend play clothes. Next morning I would quickly pull them on; the short battle of contrition was over.
While my teenage friends spent hours, which felt like centuries, trawling C&A and BHS, I’d peel away and ensconce myself in a book shop or two. Perhaps even Woolworth’s records would pull me in and of course, I had no resistance to any stationery shops. Yet the glamorous displays of shoulder pad blouses and bright pink jumpsuits, did not tempt me at all. Not that I was totally immune to clothes by then.
As a child and huge fan of American TV I treasured my black and silver bomber jacket from the States, often wearing it inside. My pleading looks during one shop for trainers ensured I had the most beautiful white Nike pair with the softest of red trims. I’m sure I cried when they finally had to be given up after one too many holes appeared.
Before university one particular store visit is still vivid in my mind. In the colourful Benetton shop a blouse and jumper combination caught my eye, so pretty (I did wonder at this strange sensation to an item of clothing but went with it!). I longed for them but it was just too much. Wasn’t it? Thankfully my mother was equally smitten with the tops. Decades later the blouse still hangs in my wardrobe. The jumper worn thin, holes in the elbows, lasted twenty years. Value for money or what!
Over the years my attitude to clothes developed and became more refined, enjoying the style of modern fashion but at all times comfort is imperative. Even on business trips I would have a pair of practical boots to go with my suit as I headed around a sawmill!
My mother is still as chic and fashionable and were this ever to change I would worry indeed. For now, I am thankful for the occasional gift of one of her clothes, as well as borrowing some for special occasions (weddings etc) before returning them to her expansive wardrobe.
No longer the despair, my mother is happy to help with all things fashion to her eager student daughter — albeit many years later!
What do I know about fashion, let me think, well nothing I know nothing I wear clothes that are comfortable and I am not one to wear a printed skirt with a printed top I will wear a plan to because my mother who had no fashion sense and would wear prints that clashed in my opinion and I don’t want to make that mistake.
I was a follower of fashion trends in my younger years. As a teenager I wore miniskirts (microminiskirts), short shorts, crop tops, and hip huggers.
My favorite outfit when I was 17 years old. Hip huggers and a crop top.
In my 60s I found myself wearing tight leggings with a long, loose top over them. Now, still in my 60’s I wear jogging pants which I swore I would never wear. but they are loose and comfortable.
I enumerated my clothes with the names of the days of the week. Throughout the year they drew the right patterns, aspects of the soul that never wane. Fashion was that natural mirror, reserved for both the sun and the moon, so that night reflected the light of the finished day, which never renounces identical rebirth.
The Red Devil Costume
When I was a little girl, I loved to dance. I attended ballet classes with fourteen other little girls who loved to dance. I was flexible and learned to do backbends and the splits quickly. After several months of learning the foundations of ballet, our teacher sent home a letter.
“The ballet school is holding a concert,” Mom said after reading the letter. “You will be a lady bird, and I need to make you a costume.”
I was delighted. Dressing up was one of my favourite things.
On the day of the concert, I was dressed in a yellow leotard, yellow tights, black ballet shoes, and a black Alice band with black sequinned antenna. I also had wings made from soft black netting with red dots on it.
The concert was held in a hall. Being one of the youngest children, my lady bird dance was early in the proceedings. The dance students had to stay until the end, and I spent my time alternating between running about being a flying lady bird and watching the other dancers.
It was during one of my swoops down the long passageway with several doors into the concert hall and dressing rooms, that I saw her. I stopped and starred. Mesmerised. The older girl on the stage was a red devil and was doing the most amazing and graceful dance. She was attired in a red leotard and red tights with a short, stiff red tutu that stuck out perfectly. She held a red pitchfork and had a red Alice band with red horns. Even her ballet shoes were red. A ballet fashion statement, I was enchanted. I watched the whole of the dance and afterwards, went to sit alone in a corner to contemplate the splendour of that costume.
I asked Mom for a red devil costume for Christmas. She wasn’t particularly interested so I knew Mom was a lost cause for fulfilling this dream. I then asked Granny Joan to make me a red devil costume. On Christmas Day, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Granny Joan and Granddad Jack. Eventually, they arrived, their old beige Ford Cortina pulling up to the front door. Granny Joan climbed out clutching a bag full of parcels. I was the last child to receive my gift. As soon as I had the package in my hands, I rushed away to a quiet place behind the couch to unwrap it.
Inside the cheerful Christmas paper was my red devil outfit. A pair of red tights, a red leotard, a red skirt made from soft netting, and handmade devil horns and a pitchfork made from stiff cardboard, red sequins, and red felt. The only thing I didn’t have was red ballet shoes but that didn’t matter. Ballet shoes were expensive, and I didn’t need shoes because Granny had cleverly bought footless tights.
The red devil costume was my favourite outfit for months and months. When I wore it, I was also a ballet fashion statement.
A magical red devil costume
To stimulate my imagination
Setting free my creativity
Allowing me to follow dreams
The red sequins catching the light
Creating mottled red patches
On the wooden floorboards
Turning our lounge into a concert hall
What more could I want?
***
Esther Chilton 
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