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LESS IS MORRISSEY
Clearly it’s time for a Morrissey style revival. Not the way he is now (though for someone who moped about the suicide issue for so long, he’s aged exceptionally graciously, even if those playschool-coloured jackets he’s been sporting recently have a Butlinsesque tinge to them), but the way he was then. He’d claim to hate it, of course, which is another compelling reason to wear slender black denim jeans (this time round they’d have to be Balenciaga or Helmut Lang), flapping shirt sleeves, faded Oscar Wilde T-shirts and ever so slightly new wavish skinny jackets. And then there’s that jet-black quiff — the thrilling antithesis of extensions and flat, ironed hair. In fact, everything about Morrissey then is deliciously counter to the sunny, pappy, blonde blandness of today’s pop scene that it’s hard to see how a style revival can fail. And how much more original to dangle your flower, stem and all, from a limp wrist or back pocket than to wear it as an icky Sarah Jessica Parker-style corsage.