If that vest was in a French magazine the strapline would be something like "Osez la transparence!". Which now that I think of it, is a slightly prosaic French version of 'dare to bare'. I like to imagine him lounging alluringly, in a selection of diaphanous vest tops, across an eight page spread in Gaël magazine next to a feature on "L'artichaut - légume de l'été et votre atout minceur" (Artichokes - summery and slimming!)
Until I can provide you with proper evidence, you're just going to have to trust me, this man is in his fifties and has a luxuriant grey mullet.
I note that Galliano Vest Man has forsaken Galliano, for Cavalli. Poor John. You've been drifting off the fashion radar for a while now and this really is the final indignity for you, isn't it? I imagine you crying into your protein bar, your prissy little Hercule Poirot moustache drooping with the weight of your salt tears while Christopher Kane and Erdem Moralioglu point, and laugh.
Most disturbing of all, my post when I got home was THIS:
The front reads "We should get off to a good start" and the back reads "A ninety two year old lady made this card, hoping you would like it".
I cannot begin to understand this but it seems indescribably sinister. She's going to come knocking at my door, isn't she? Is this a well known Belgo-scam? Really, that was all this neighbourhood was missing, the chance to be doorstepped by possibly fictitious nonagenarians with a taste for whimsical stickers and green ink.
Thankfully I am escaping tomorrow, for the first Facegoop London Summit. We have great plans, the brain twin and I, for video blogging and hippy baiting and mortifying beauty based cruelty of all kinds, but I rather imagine it will end up with us sitting in a park drinking warm wine and telling each other repeatedly how doomed we are. I am really looking forward to it. After that, I retreat to my hermetically sealed box in Bath. Oh! And on 29 July, I believe I am doing another one of those Tall Tales thingies. I have not remotely prepared for it in any way, and whatever ideas I had when I agreed have evaporated like the morning dew off a luxuriant mullet. If you have any suggestions of topics about which you would, theoretically, like to hear me speak for five minutes in a pub in Kilburn next week, I am all ears (and a little bit desperation. Possibly 76% ears, 24% desperation). Help!