the swell of pride I felt walking out of Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren’s Sex shop on London’s King’s Road with my very first pair of PVC pants. Black PVC pants; a lime-green and electric-blue mohair sweater from Fiorucci; blue-black hair; Alice Cooper-style makeup – that was my look. There weren’t many traces to kick over then – nobody can have been a more liberal parent than my mother – but boy, did I kick and kick as if there were.
Well, you couldn’t step out with a mohawk now (not unless you want to be bundled into care by your family), but that spirit of rebellion, of inappropriateness, of not giving a damn, all feels very now. How can one hijack the past, though, without looking like a caricature? How can you obtain the essence of that hard-core, full-on look, rather than the actual look itself? The judicious deployment of certain elements, of course. And if you are asking me what best signifies a bit of rebelliousness, it is leather. (Or,