You look lovely dear

Back home last week, I was conducting the usual manoeuvre of looking around the village book shop with my mother (she goes through books like I do Krispy Kremes or vodka for that matter.) Trawling the coffee table books I was swooning over alll the titles, Dior: 60 years of style, Fashion Illustration: Harpers Bazaar, The Art of Being a Well Dressed Wife....


I dropped it like a hot brick, a very politically incorrect hot brick.(Although I was very pleased that this had given me a blog idea and I wouldn't have to use my rather dire emergency stash of blog ideas.) But how to be a stylish wife?! Are we in the 1800's? Surely women have more ambition in their lives than to sit around wondering whether their Mr. Man finds them aesthetically pleasing enough? This got me thinking about fashion and yes here it is, the f bomb, feminism.

(cheers for that one Banksy.)

People (mainly women) tend to roll their eyes and put their fingers in their ears whenever I bring up this subject. But having been bought up, not only by hippie parents (my father currently still wears his hair in a pony tail, rides around on a moped and paints his toe nails gold), but my mother is the most fierce of feminists so I find it hard not to be at least a little passionate.


Don't get me wrong, I get it, in this day and age feminism can seem a little past it, obsolete and irrelevant. We have the vote, we have equal pay, equal rights so what are we moaning about? Well it all seems to be rather image based these days. what we wear and who and who can't tell us what to wear.


The mind numbingly obvious example to use here is the slut walks. BELOW I PROVIDE A BRIEF HISTORY OF SLUT WALKS IN BRACKETS FOR THOSE WHO NEED IT, IF NOT SKIM OVER.


(The SlutWalk protest marches began on April 3, 2011, in Toronto, Canada, and became a movement of rallies across the world. Participants protest against explaining or excusing rape by referring to any aspect of a woman's appearance. The rallies began when Constable Michael Sanguinetti, a Toronto Police officer, suggested that to remain safe, "women should avoid dressing like sluts") Thank you wikipedia now back to you Miss. Thursday.

(no caption needed)

Women were angry, it was being suggested they were asking to be raped, and I don't think that in the history of forever anyone ever wanted to be raped. When I saw the slutwalk through Bristol the other day I couldn't help but feel a little sisterhood pride, but it did get me to thinking why do we dress like that? Short skirts? High heels? See through top? Are we sluts? The word is in the dictionary and as I type it, it doesn't have that squiggly red line underneath it (interestingly neither does the word squiggly), so it has to be a real concept?

(and again)

When the men in our lives say to us 'You're not going out like that are you?' are they being sexist or just warning us we're in for a hot pursuit? Who are we doing this for? Is it for ourselves or do we secretly crave this attention? (However i found my body to be a bit of a sexual obstacle course, oh when i say body i mean that item of clothing that looks like a leotard, its like an all encompassing chastity costume, I can't even get it undone.)


So with Halloween coming up thick and fast and with all the female costumes being 'sexy' this and 'vixen' that does this mean that this what we want? To look like vixens? It must be because that's all that's on offer?

(don't remember old snowwy looking much like this.)

Or could it just be that we know we're smoking and we want to make the best of our bodies? One day we'll be 56 sat in drinking baileys hot chocolate and downing 30 crunchies at a time and we'll be sat their saying "why oh why didn't I wear that sexy geisha ninja costume?!" (google it, it's a real costume.)


My message is to all my sisters, wear what you want, do it with integrity and never for anyone else, do it for yourself.

Right on sister




footnote- for those of you who are less inclined to the bare bum costumes, stay tuned I will have your comprehensive guide to Halloween next week.

Old dress, new tricks

OK so I am beginning to realise what a joke my late blogs are becoming, so I'm going to try and pitch it to as being like a long awaited fashion show that just wouldn't be the same if it didn't kick off a little later than expected. (A little self praising I know but I thought I'd give it a try.)


And besides all that my blog this week is all about vintage so I can afford for Martha Thursday to be a little past her best, out of style and old.


Well it all started the other week when a very broke miss Thursday was wandering down Gloucester road for a perfectly innocent piece of chocolate tart (if a piece of chocolate tart can ever be innocent), when all of a sudden a jamboree of mickey mouse sweat shirts, itchy granny cardigans and beaten up doc martens came to her attention. A little after half an hour and a trip to the cash point later (this vintage lark has a vintage way of paying, nothing plastic) She emerged with her very own beaten up pair of black doc marten lace ups.

(these aren't mine, I wish they were.)

(Going to stop talking in second person now it was getting confusing.) 


I was thrilled, I had been DESPERATE for a pair of docs for months and had paid a minuscule £30 for these bad boys. I hadn't wanted new ones though, I always find there's something rather charming about other peoples clothes, its like you reincarnate a dead trend.


I was literally walking a mile in someone else's shoes and I found it a hopelessly painful experience resulting in some of the biggest blisters I have ever seen, prompting  a sleepy friend of mine to wake up another sleeping flat mate to show her this shocking display. I felt as though my marvelous martens weren't faithful to me yet, like I'd adopted a slightly older child that was set in his ways.


My week continued along the blast from the past theme when a long blond friend of mine took me vintage shopping on park street, and I went on a mad spree in oxfam boutique (you know the one that tries to kid you into thinking its not actually a charity shop) I figured that if my splurge went to those in need it justified me buying a giant purple blazer barney would be proud of, mittens with pom poms and 101 dalmatian scarf?

(see don't look like a charity shop does it?)

This got me to thinking though, what is the fuss about vintage? Would we look twice at it if it was in a charity shop (not one describing itself as a boutique) and we thought some old lady had died in it? We fork out hefty amounts of cash for things that are quite often frankly outdated, ill fitting and with the most unpleasant odour. What is our obsession with vintage?

(however this does.)

It's reproduced all over the place in the forms of rustic restaurants or kitsch kitchen kitchen wear (THAT'S YOU KIDSTON) which kind of defies the point of 'vintage.' We even want our photographs to have a vintage feel in sepia tone (we've all youtubed the dickhead song right?) 


So to try and solve this conundrum I went vintage bowling at the lanes. Putting on the most beaten up pair of bowling shoes that were positively humming and carting a seriously smudged bowling ball down the 'side free' isle, I couldn't help but feel it was all slightly mad. But after a very questionable cider or two it came to me like a vintage epiphany.


I had consumed so much vintage that week that it was like I was living someone else's fashionable life. Is vintage just a way of escaping a world we'd rather not be in? It's a bit like playing pretend or dress up when you're a kid, you don't want to live in the real world so why not head back into an era you might actually want to live in.

(aaahh to feel like this again)

 I seem to remember that I had felt quite depressed that week (can't really remember why because it has taken me SO LONG TO BLOG, probably something to do with money.) So instead of running away to Chelsea to play with Francis, which was the original plan, I had effectively adorned myself in someone else's life. Staying on theme all the way down to me revisiting a vintage friendship, when an old acquaintance came down and we re-used our friendship once more, (hoping that will stay on trend.)


So the deal is, vintage is what you make it, it's not so much a trend or about how you look but how it makes you feel, apart from the few prats who wear those slutty granny jumper things, you know the ones that look like a cats been sick on them? They're not in it for the culture just for the granny slut perks. If you wanna save money try a dress agency, they do pretty much the same job but they clean the clothes and the shops don't smell like incense (not that I would know.)


Someone yell at me in a week to do another blog.

Money matters

Me and my bank card have just had a very depressing 12 hours, I don't know how we'd cope if we didn't have each other. 


Yesterday I made the hugely miserable mistake of working out how much money I have spent since arriving back at uni, and I'm pretty sure I could buy Miley Cyrus' whole head of hair with the amount I've spent. Then today I queued for an hour and a half only to spend £274 on a bus pass, there are so many more exciting things that Reiss could have given to me for that money. And to further upset our harmonious relationship, my debit card decides to spend £45 in Tesco. Fabulous.

(This is literally what all clothes look like to me at the moment, a huge pile of cash that I can't afford.)

I spent the entire last few weeks trying to define the difference between what I wanted and what I needed. And, with the help of my student loan, these lines became very blurred. I WANT to go out every night and get completely, lying down in the gutter, licking ketchup off my oceana hot dog, plastered but this will cost me greatly, however it is essential that I maintain my Bristol friend ships and settle in accordingly so there fore I actually NEED to go out for my social benefits. 


Money really does matter. Especially now that you live alone and have to unfortunately pay for everything and more, IE when you stupidly decide to bring your ridiculous bunny, tootles, to university and he decides to chew threw the telephone wire and you have pay for a new one. It's not just yourself you're responsible for but your bunny too! No wonder your bank account is crying.

(Tootles the bunny, he's a menace)

Student loan= automatic debt. Even before you spend anything you amount this great loan that you have to eventually pay back. So knowing you already owe thousands of pounds is it not just worth saying 'f*ck it, yes I will have that enormously practical sequined crop top' I mean its bound to come in extremely handy and if you're in debt before you begin why not make it worse?  But following this theory there are gonna be times when your bank account is looking more pathetic than a hungover Tony Blair and you feel like you could really do with a job.


Gazing blankly at gum tree where the only jobs available are after hours toilet cleaning in Iceland (the supermarket not the country, Christ what a commute that would be), I cant help but feel like its more trouble than its worth.And I'm feeling like I'd rather be broke wearing last seasons clothes than be a little in the green wearing this seasons Iceland uniform. I do have one extremely lucky friend who always manages to scoop a reasonably decent job and she's always very good at them (which she got to hear all about because she works behind a bar and I had a few apple sourz in the system.)

(not feeling like this man is having total job satisfaction)

But even having a lovely jolly well paid job behind the bar (I'm being quite presumptuous here because I've only heard about her 1st shift whilst being quite merry), it still comes with many further costs and stresses. Whilst shopping for the ever exciting black uniform for her work, I was virtually risking life and limb as freshers flu had bought my normally very perky friend to grinding snotty halt. I thought that if we had asked her to try on a pair of black boots one more time she might actually hurl them at a shop assistant.


So after ruling getting a job out as a money solution, I got to thinking about what if I only got what I really needed, if I scrapped all my nonsense justifications for buying £80 dresses and taking out £30 for a night out. What if I just got all the necessities, after all the Beetles (and my duvet cover) dictate that 'love is all you need.' I tried this theory but in between being single, watching titanic and my house mates being home all weekend I wasn't exactly feeling the love and I'm afraid that something will have to replace that and that something is low fat Tesco rice pudding and jaeger bombs which cost money.

(equally important messages, gonna tuck myself up in love tonight.)

So after a very expensive freshers, re-freshers, de-stale week I have not really learnt anything other than this, there are times in life when you have to spend money and some times a lovely hug from the person you love most just wont cut it and the only way to go is a huge night out and chips and gravy at the end. Amen.

The hair bear bunch

I'm getting that September style feeling. You know just before you go back to uni/school/college and you haven't seen anyone (well you're not a recluse but you get the picture) for 6 weeks or longer and you want to prove you've not fallen into an ugly hole over the summer? In fact you want to do quite the opposite, you completely re-vamp and work extremely hard on your image so that when all of your acquaintances see you they are so stunned by your looks that you have miraculously developed over the summer that they assume that you must have always looked like that and they are only noticing it now. And you play it all down by saying things like 'what this old thing?' and 'I thought my hair looked dreadful today?' And everyone remarks on what a lovely modest young lady you are.


Now the classic short cut to achieving this new season rebirth is a hair cut, a bit off the shoulders, a mop chop, because, lets face it, if you've got bad hair people avoid you. No one wants to run their fingers through a scrubbing brush. It is a tragedy that this required cut has to happen in September, the one month when rain is almost guaranteed and your GHDs become better company than your boyfriend. In fact the more I think about it the whole experience is extremely stressful. I remember my brother requiring a 'my first hair cut' book, to ease him through the experience.

(not totally reassured by the fact the man holding the razor has his eyes shut)

When it comes to hair the whole world is captivated. Even as little kids we are hounded with stories about terrifying hair situations. Rapunzel was locked away in a tower in fear of someone stealing her hair that could heal wounds (referring to Disney's recent film Tangled, if you've not seen it its worth a watch!) And the tale of Melisande whose hair never stopped growing and to stop it strangling her in her sleep had it cut daily, which going by Tulisa's £250  a day price tag is bound to make anyone cry. Even my dad, whose aging pony tail is not the most stylish job, watches in fascination as Davina, Claudia and Penelope swish their locks and whisper 'because we're worth it.'

(Keri Katona's clip in extensions)

One of the most frightening prospects that come with hair cuts is the idea of choosing what to have done. Over the summer I have come across countless dilemmas about hair. It's not like a new outfit, you can't just return it if it goes wrong. My ex flat mate had a constant ongoing battle with her hair. Trying to embrace the change she died her hair, which had been bleach blonde for years, to bright red and, despite every ones oohs and aahs, instantly hated it and it has taken her the best part of 6 months trying to get it back to her original colour and she's still not there, Sainsbury's should write her a check for the amount of hair dyes she helped them sell.


Does this mean that we should, as Sharpay Evans once said, stick to what we know, stick to the status quo rather than brave new ventures? I know a collection of people who have lived by the same hair cut for years and it hasn't done them wrong, I can't imagine one particularly northern friend of mine without a fringe, or my father without a pony tail for that matter. So what does it take to make the first incision?


Sat in the hair dressers you are bombarded with millions of questions, 'should I cut it off?', 'fringe or no fringe?', it's very easy to become a yes man when with a hair dresser as I recently discovered at my latest hair appointment, I found myself saying 'yes I love Dorothy Perkins and yes I hate Lady Gaga', neither of which are true, just to avoid awkward conversation. There was one occasion when I really did go a bit mad.

(My pick of some of the worst kinda up-doos, mind some are pretty clever! wish I could get my hair to look more like a vehicle of flight.)

On holiday in Brighton I asked the hair dresser to suggest a hair style he said asymmetric and lose the fringe, unsure I said we'd proceed with even hair and then decide at the end. But this hair dresser was cunning and after cleverly fueling me with free wine I let him cut my hair into a wonky bob. It actually looked decent but I could never find anyone who could recreate it like Hoolio could, or maybe it was Havier?


So yes hair cuts are traumatic but they also necessary. Your hair is probably one of the first things people will notice about you, my mum recently told me I looked more approachable with my new doo. Charming. The important thing is that it's your body and your hair should be reflective of you not what Loreal wants you to be. I also tend to find that Hair dressers, being hair dressers, tend to be good at cutting hair and they won't make you look like an idiot.


All the same I went for my old fringe again, it means I don't have to pluck my eyebrows as often, whilst simultaneously gulping down Holland and Barret hair vitamins to try and get myself some Rapunzel hair for some gorgeous prince to climb up.

Lost in translation

You are all probably sick of my constant apologies. 'I'm sorry, I won't do it again!' and then there I go almost a week late with my blog yet again. I can hear you all saying "enough with the 'I'm sorrys' how about not doing anything to be sorry for?" Well in reply to that, all my lovely loyal readers, I promise that in two weeks when everything has settled down between us and I am back at uni I will be totally committed to you.

The cause to my delay is that fashion nerd has become uni nerd over the past month or so. I have become almost a university guru to oncoming freshers. I have been offering out much demanded advice on what to bring, how to get freshers tickets, how to meet people blah blah blah. Seriously UCAS should pay me some dollar cause I'm pretty sure these kids couldn't do it without me ;) (cheeky text face wink to indicate I don't really think I'm that brilliant.)

But surprisingly one of the biggest questions I got asked was 'what on earth shall I wear?!' Hmmmm what an intriguing question. Surely you wear what you would wear any old day of the week for 2 reasons;

1- Your moving house practical wear is usually required.

2- By wearing what you would usually wear you are giving an accurate representation of what you will look     like in weeks to come. (These people will no doubt see you looking your worst anyway IE no make up, granny PJs and crying because you're so hungover you can't speak.)

(This is what freshers fashion will mainly consist of, however best not to turn up like this, I don't know these people)

Now unfortunately I can not back up my argument because I remember fretting so much about what to wear and making a real effort to look nice but then again not too nice on moving day. I also completely freaked out my former flat mates when later on in the year I recited the exact outfits they wore on moving day, (I can always remember what people were wearing when I first met them, it's a gift.) So could this mean that actually first impressions do count because I can still remember that one of my flatmates wore pink jeans, a grey cardie, white vest and sandals and another wore a blue superdry hoodie and dark blue jeans? (Really hope they're reading this now and being equally freaked out.)

On my recent jolly up to Manchester I met up with one particularly curly friend  of mine who is off to UEA in September. She was having a dilemma with the particularly tricky subject on whether to re-shave part of her head again. Now I thought it looked pretty cool, edgy and VERY her. But she was worried that it would just be too extreme and give off the wrong impressions.

But it worked for her in Manchester so why not UEA? Can style really not get translated from place to place? I remember when I moved from Manchester to Dorset begging my mum to buy me a whole new wardrobe because my slightly wackier city fashion got totally mis-translated and came out as gobbledygook. But I soon found that it was very easy to fit in because of the lack of variety that was on offer. It wasn't that they didn't understand what I was wearing it just wasn't in their fashion vocabulary. Exeter high street, until very recently, was like an arm pit, it stank. I'm hoping that the soon to be Urban Outfitters there will spice things up a bit.

(Definitely do not turn up on your first day like these eager beavers, you don't want to come across mad keen!)

My mum gave me the Guardians 'Fresher 2011' guide the other day (I'm not a fresher bless her) and the style advice in there literally made me want to start crying, looksy I will show you....

She looks very, VERY play it safe boring. That top is hideous and it doesn't fit her. I love the Guardian but please for your own sakes ignore this advice and just wear something lovely, something you really like that expresses who you are.  Sooner or later everyone will find out that actually you are a bit of a freak and you don't like to dress like simple sally to the left of us.  University is a pool of young exciting people who are probably equally as worried on whether to shave their head or wear their leather shorts or tattoo their forehead. Most university's fashion sense is bilingual and someone is bound to speak your style.

Just be you, they'll all love ya!

Also apologies to anyone who does in fact own this top but I am sure you would wear it with something less dull and buy the correct size. Oh and my curly Mancunian shave your head, it looks great!

Funny girls

For all of the funny girls.


So, once again my blog is late (they should call me Martha ....day.) Apologies, I spent the most part of my week trying to be topical, racking my brains trying to somehow relate my blog back to the riots but I just didn't think that writing about the best balaclava or who's k-swiss I preferred was really very fashion nerd.


Recently I have found myself a little lacking in self confidence, (people who know me will know this is not really one of my usual traits.) Over the summer I have been to stay with a few uni friends and been out on the town, on the 'razz' if you will, and have begun to notice a rather repetitive system. To begin with all, ALL, of the boys will surround my friends and once they have found out they are unavailable they will turn to me, charming. You see I have this habit of tending to make friends with really stunning girls, I think perhaps I need to hang around outside the Jeremy Kyle set and then maybe I could look slightly more stunning.


In a sober situation I'm fine, on a roll! I can charm everyone with my jokes (I don't like to blow my own trumpet but when it comes to funny I like to think I'm a bit of alright, correct me if I'm wrong.) But when your out and talking isn't really an option because Calvin Harris is insisting on having his say on the dance floor, a personality is neither here nor there, my comedy routine is at a complete waste in oceana. You have to wear your personality on your face and body, in other words be fit. But what happens when you're the funny one? Velma always solved the mysteries but Daphne always got Fred and Velma was always having to traipse round by herself not even allowed to tag along with Shaggy and Scooby. And as Chandler always said no-one really wants to be the funny one.

(Chandler, me and you are on the same page mate)

Now don't get me wrong I know I'm not hideous, I would class myself as perfectly decent looking (its very hard to not sound like I'm putting myself down or being completely arrogant in this blog), but I just don't consider myself 'fit'. I'm the kind of girl guys like once they get to know me and then even then chances are its more in a sisterly way or a back up (the amount of guys I've promised to marry if we're still both alone by 40!) So this summer when I found myself looking to change my body image, all of the end results that I pictured were the classical 'fitness' that men tend to scurry after.


So what is fit? What are the rules? How do you become one of these girls? Here is my comprehensive list on what is required to become fit on a night out....


1. The body-con skirt/dress.
If you're fit you're wearing this, wearing this means you're fit. No self respecting girl would be wearing this unless they had the body to pull it off, or so this is what we lead men to believe so that it is so drummed into their heads that eventually you don't actually need the body, the dress indicates you already have it.


2. Camouflage
Make up, as discussed in my previous entry make up is the master of disguise. It enhances any fitness you already have and covers up any imperfections.


3. The Pose
Posing for the camera is not one of my strong points, I often deliberately make a stupid face so that if the photo turns out really awful at least I have an excuse. But to be considered 'fit' you need that photo. You know the one I mean, ladies's profile pictures with one knee bent, hands on hips, head tilted to one side. It is this sort of photo that will encourage lots of adds from bizarre pigeon fancying polish people on facebook.

(The boys just love the Mila.)

4. Dancing
Now the mistake I always make when I'm out is actually trying to dance, this can go very wrong, if you can actually dance then by all means dance away. However if you're like me and sign out the lyrics to the song then don't bother. It seems that a non-offensive sway and wiggling your bum should do the trick.


5. Hair
Men, on the whole, can't deal with crazy hair, they can't even get to grips with my full fringe! Miley Cyrus hair seems to be a favourite (and to be honest who wouldn't want her hair!)

(She obvs read my blog, she's even got the body con dress!)

6. Drink
With the right amount of Blackthorn in them any one can appear fit


Now I am by no means suggesting or encouraging that this is what is necessary for us ladies to do, it just seems to be the way to guarantee yourself male attraction, which is sad really. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and in the long run being the funny one tends to pay off, lets face it the body con dress isn't really marriage material and I'm pretty sure Velma played for the other team anyway.

Make 'em laugh

the beautiful lie

A story about make up


I have to first apologise for my lateness with this blog, I have been lounging around on the beaches of the Algarve neglecting fashion nerd. But this is exactly what inspired my beauty based blog. What is it about being on holiday that always brings out my beauty side? I'm never usually too bothered about it, as my long suffering house mate is well aware as I usually get her to make me up,  I'm fashion nerd not cosmetics geek!


Well when I'm stuck on the beach with my ever irritating relatives I find myself delving into the dephs of ELLE and VOGUE that I never usually read, you know the back bit where they encourage you to buy extortionate cosmetics. However in my desperation to find some entertainment I found myself fixated. I was always aware that make up could transform a look but I was not aware to such an extent or how fashion forward it can be.

Holidays also bring around the need for new cosmetics. Firstly everything you already own needs to be down sized to Sylvanian Families proportions, which calls for a trip to Superdrug, those miniatures are so cute! Everything needs to have some kind of  waterproof or SPF property, you don't want to look like the only ding bat on the beach actually wearing sun cream on ya face! Then  tan becomes a bit of an issshhh, you can't go off on holiday bragging about how dark you're gonna be then come back like Casper the friendly ghost so fake tan comes into play.... Though my tan's real, I can show you the bikini lines, promise!

(me after a few hours sunbathing, should have removed the sunglasses though..)

I always think that no holiday can go completed without Duty Free. Aaaaah duty free, your shiny counters and low prices allure me into buying so many items I do not need. This time I came back with Clinique lipstick in a candy floss pink all ready for puckering and some Lancome mascara. The mascara bought on a flashback to when my mum's friend from Windsor was helping me do my make up like Kelly Osbourne for a celeb look-a-like party I was attending (how deeply unflattering, this was 6 years ago and Kell was not in her heyday.) Anyway she said, with a london twang, "ALWAYYYS use Lannnncommmme mascara." So I do (when I have the funds.)

(I never usually take make up tips from a rabbit, but this one does wear Chanel. See! Who says animal testing doesn't have it's benefits? Just don't tell the RSPCA.)

With all this in mind, and on our faces, it's a wonder anyone can recognise us! You've watched those make over shows, you've seen what Trinny, Suzannah and Gok have done to these quite frankly hideous women, they look beautiful! This reminded me of something that one of my guy friends said to me a few months back;

"You know it's so unfair on us boys, you girls are tricksters thats what you are, you can dye your hair and wear push up bras and cake your face in makeup until you look stunning! And then when it comes down to it all and all your disguises are off you could be rough and it's really disapointing! I think us guys should have our scores bumped up, like if they were a 5/10 you'd bump it up to a 7/10 because we can't really do anything to improve ourselves!"

He's got a point, we have got it lucky, if you're an ugly guy then your ugly, we don't have to be born with it we've got Maybelline. I think when Paloma sang, "Do you want the truth or something beautiful?", I'm pretty sure that she was not in fact talking about her elledged romance but rather asking her boyf whether he wants to see her all bare faced after using a Simple cleansing wipe or whether you want to see her all dolled up in her finest Maybelline New York? 

So to finish we are all liars and cheating our way through life, dates and nights out with the help of concealers and falsies, and we all do it and all know about it and that's how it's gonna stay. It seems like make up is no longer purely an enhancer but a whole new identity. Everyone can tranform themselves, though aparently this rule does not apply to the elderly according to this fabulous quote from Nicola Formichetti;
"I think old people should just be old and go away"

Go on then... Bugger off