The evolutionary tale of coming to love the things that once gave you the ‘ick’ as a young grasshopper is as old as time itself. For me, olives, sex scenes, cooked mushrooms, the delicacy that is the male tooshie, femme ‘fits and compliments of any degree are just some of the fundamentals. Wiping away the foamy dribble from my mouth thinking about my newfound adoration for sex scenes and skirts, I can’t help thinking about a number of other vitally important items that have also made the list.
As a self-confessed tomboy deep within my soul, anything within proximity of the glitter family was sure to induce a lil’ nausea as a youngster. The attention-seeking-ness of the small, delicate pops of feminine detailing that habitually leave a trail of mystery and many, many hours of vacuuming in their wake, was always too much for my under-developed bean to cook with. Fast-forward an equally mysterious number of brain-growin’ years and I love the god damn thing. Glitter, its sexy cousin the sequin, and their Range Rover driving MILF chainmail, are all up there aggressively competing to knock the male ass off its cherished pedestal. Throw a tailored lady suit in the mix and my brain just about implodes.