Fashion Victim – Poetry
The A to Zs of Fashion Victims, from Auctions, Bimbo, Catwalk, to Editor, to Journalist, to Logos, Model, Photographer…..and more… all of them described in poetry.
Here’s my favourite, D for Designer, from the book Fashion Victims by Michael Roberts:
At six years old I dressed a doll in ribbons, lace, and flowers
My father said he wished me dead and made me take cold showers.
At twelve I took my mother off to buy the spring collections
Oh, what a waste of style and taste – she hated my selections.
At twenty-one, with childhood done, I studied hard at fashion
I sewed quite well, but truth to tell, fame was my guiding passion.
I learned to pose in outre clothes and clubbed till early morning
I slept in class, they kicked my ass – and threw me out for yawning.
I changed my name at twenty-five, became a good assistant
I worked all night, was bright, polite, and never too persistent.
I so disarmed with boyish charm, my hair as soft as sable
A hedge honcho came along and offered me a label!
At thirty-five, I felt alive, no one could stop me rising
They said my clothes were “quelque chose,” “amusing”, “smart”, “surprising.”
At forty-nine, my second line was priced at several billion
I lived in castles on the Rhine, my drug bills came to millions.
I wore a wig and Quaker shoes-my own unique aesthetic-
And never hear my workers say, “He’s looking quite pathetic.”
At sixty-one (which I’ll remain for the longest time),
I fear the days are running out, but onward still I climb.
I diet, train, have sex again – I’ve scored some hunky catches.
But when I go, I’ll go alone, with doll’s and daddy’s ashes.