Being as I am rather in a bad mood with men at the moment (but only the ones who’ve actually ‘done me wrong’, dear possible male readers -assuming I have *some* male readers- not you sterling chaps) and the weather is making me flop rather than pop, I’m seeking therapy in all forms. My current favourite type is Duran Duran.
I’m in a bit of an Eighties mood at the moment. Proper Eighties though. Proper New Romantic extravagance which could, quite frankly, be from any era and was itself a version of Glam Rock (my usual homeland). But the electric beats and boys with big hair and make-up are currently floating my boat. Although, saying that, a gift-wrapped Gene Hunt wouldn’t go amiss either.
A few weeks ago I went to Liverpool to see the Durans and, thankfully, my slightly obscured view of the stage (get some raised seating, Echo Arena!!) had one exception of a nearly perfect tunnel view of John Taylor. Who might just be the most beautiful man ever to have lived.
I’ve had a thing for him ever since View To A Kill, and that naughty little eyebrow raise after his shooting frenzy. My main squeeze as a five year old (I started young) was Morten Harket, so I never obsessed about John T. as much as I might. My taste has also, latterly, tended to lean towards the slightly more unconventional looking men of the world. But when Double D made a comeback with Ordinary World and Come Undone in the early 90s, I completely fell in love with his slightly more rugged prettiness and *that* excessively ruffled shirt from the latter video. I’m not sure it gets much sexier than that?
[Some kindly soul has also created a compilation of swoonworthy John Taylor moments on YouTube (for serious fans only).]
Now, thanks to the lovely Miss Senti and Penny Lane [the best possible type of groupie and the loveliest gals I could hope to meet], I’ve taken to occasional forays into New Romanticism at Electric Dreams nights. There’s nothing more wonderful for someone like me, who was born at completely the wrong time, than to dress up authentically with kindred spirits without a care and to lose yourself in music which makes your heart skip a beat. I want to do it with every era I possibly can. It’s the most amazing feeling.
My profile picture to the right is from the last time we went (I wore Sarah Whitworth and had the side hair-do) and this time I wore a dress by Symphony of Shadows and unfortunately it was so hot I had no choice but to put my hair up (which feels desperately unnatural to me…).
We do totally lose ourselves in the era. Watching Duran Duran and Adam Ant videos, laughing at Nick Rhodes’ clear revulsion at location filming (regard the length at which he holds his sparkler away from his hair in this video) and what it must do to his hair and make-up, cooing at John Taylor’s cheekbones, running away screaming in horror at Simon’s hair and clothes in the All She Wants Is video and booing every time possible Duran screentime is wasted on models, children and Andy Taylor.
So on Sunday when I emerged from the Eighties cocoon we had created this weekend, I found myself anticipating people looking a certain way. I was expected to see big, highlighted hair and mascara on each and every man I walked past. Oh! the crushing disappointment when each and every one failed me. I don’t even want to go to Hoxton, before anyone says it, because they just don’t do it properly. In fact, no one does it properly. Even at the Electric Dreams night. The men just don’t make an effort.
Where are all the New Romantic boys?
If you find one, please return him to me immediately. A-thank you.