#it is essentially a purple long sleeved crop top over a black body suit

[syxnewt]

i'm gonna redesign newt because her outfit SUCKS ASS

[wweassets]

Costume Contest anon here. Better late than never, but introducing my first annual MAT GALA! Similar to the Met Gala, the category is formal event wear, high fashion, haux couture, creativity, and in this case, slutty! Similar to the Met Gala, photos are not allowed to be taken inside the actual ball, just on the red carpet, as it is a PRIVATE invite-only event. Since women are not invited to this event and this occasion is a men-only fundraiser, nudity is allowed! It’s just a fun night for the guys to take the night off, have a few drinks and chill, and show off who has the best fashion sense, the nicest physique, and the most endowments!

Here come the attendees down the “white carpet” ready to impress…

BR*N BR*AKKER is in his all-black era. He’s wearing a custom-made SlickItUp tight black bodysuit with black leather boots and black leather gloves, but the material is sheer just enough to reveal his dick and muscular ass in the light. His muscular frame looks incredible in the black silhouette against the white carpet, similar to Kim Kardashian’s all-black look from the Met Gala, with his dick visible through the black fabric.

S*TH R*LLINS is wearing a cropped white Vera Wang tuxedo shirt with frills ending right below his chest, and a black bowtie around his neck. He’s wearing black shades, and his hair tied up in a clean, wet top bun. He’s wearing baggy black suit pants, but there is only one leg to them, so his entire right leg and ass cheek is exposed. The pant leg on the left starts at his hip and connects to the upper thigh with the crotch completely removed, so they are essentially a sleeve for his left leg. His penis is exposed and completely hanging out, with a black blow tie around his dick he’s using as a cock ring. He’s laughing maniacally as the paparazzi take shots of his exposed penis.

M*TT R*DDLE is wearing black leather gladiator sandals with straps that go all the way up and wrap around his legs to his waist. He’s wearing nothing underneath, so he’s proudly showing off his long dick as it hangs between two leather straps. On top, he’s wearing an oversized Moncler coat.

L*GAN P*AUL is wearing a Diesel electric blue leather jacket, very high-cut that it ends in the middle of his back. Underneath, he’s wearing baggy overalls of the same material, which begin at the tops of his quads, leaving his fat ass exposed in the back and his penis semi-covered, showing the top half of his shaft. He has his curly blond hair slicked back, and wearing shiny yellow shades.

F*NN B*LOR is serving bad-boy thug, wearing a black Dior spiked leather jacket without a shirt underneath and a purple bandana ski mask over his face. Like Seth, he’s wearing black suit pants that are just two leg sleeves, and end right along the thigh, leaving his ass and penis exposed.

A*STIN TH*ORY is taking a page out of Lil’ Nas X’s book, and is painted head to toe in sparking blue body paint. He’s wearing his signature blue thong, and custom blue Off-White shoes to match.

C*ARMELLO H*YES is wearing a large black and gold patterned Versace cloak with a long train. He opens the buttons to reveal that he’s shirtless and wearing black mesh leggings, exposing his long dick. He has gold sequins going down his penis vertically that spell out “HIM.”

L* KN*GHT is wearing a bridge red Calvin Klein shirt and long tie, with matching pants. He turns around for the photographers to reveal that the entire backs of both his shirt and pants are custom made in tight sheer red material, revealing his muscular back and huge ass.

ELT*N PR*NCE from Pr*tty D*adly is wearing a creme colored button-down shirt with a matching bowtie. He’s wearing matching pants, but they are one-legged chaps and he has nothing on underneath, exposing his entire right leg, fat ass, and penis. K*T W*LSON is wearing the same exact outfit, except the one-legged chaps are on his right leg. They pose for the cameras with their junk exposed, laughing and make cocky expressions.

So, who is going to be named Best Dressed by the Assets Army?

oh WOWOWOWWOWOWOW… you’ve done it again 🙏 your writing skills are literally impeccable like i wish i had this much care in my actual job 😭 thank you for providing for us 💖

now for my results…

🥉in third place we have… pretty deadly

🥈our runner up is… logan paul

🥇and our winner…. seth rollins

how about y’all?

[angel-caked]

Tagged by @stagtic // Tagging whoever wants to do it ❤

body. long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. toned thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. toned arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular frame. voluptuous frame. petite frame. lanky frame. short nails. long nails. manicured nails. dirty nails. flat butt. toned ass. bubble butt. thick butt. small waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips. big feet. average feet. small feet. soft feet. slender feet. calloused feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands. small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. broad shoulders. underweight. average weight. overweight.

hair. thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny. scruffy. frizzy. curly. wild. unruly. straight. smooth. wavy. floppy. cropped. pixie-cut. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length. floor length. buzz cut. bald. jaw length. vermilion. mohawk. white. grey. platinum blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. jet black. ginger. auburn. dyed red. dyed any unnatural color. streaked.thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows.

skin. pale. fair. rosy. olive ( when he was alive ). dark. tanned. blotchy. smooth. acne. dry. greasy. freckled. scarred.

height. shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. < than 2 m.

eyes. small. large. average. grey. silver. brown. black. blue. red. green. gold / amber. hazel. violet. doe-eyed. almond. close - set. wide - set. squinty. monolid. heavy eyelids. upturned. downturned.

cosmetics. light eyeliner. heavy eyeliner. cat eyes. mascara. fake eyelashes. matte lipstick. regular lipstick. lip gloss. red lips. pink lips. dark lips. bronzer. highlighter. eyeshadow. neutral eyeshadow. smoky eyes. colorful eyeshadow. blush. lipliner. light contouring. heavy contouring. powder. matte foundation. shiny foundation. concealer. wears make up regularly. wears makeup from time to time / now and then. rarely wears make-up. never wears makeup.

scent. floral. fruity. perfumes. colognes. aftershave. cocoa. moisturizer. natural soap. shampoo. cigarettes. leather. sweat. food. incense. marijuana. whiskey. wine. fried food. blood. fire. metal. rain. grass. ocean. autumn leaves. baked bread. freshly baked cookies. smoke. campfire. lavender. trees. pumpkin pie. rose. gingerbread .peppermint. oak. honey. lemon. vanilla. coffee. cake. mint. rawhide. chemicals. essential oils.

tattoos / piercings. full sleeve. arm tattoo. thigh tattoo. shin tattoo. wrist tattoo. lower back tattoo. hand / finger tattoo. foot tattoo. neck tattoo. face tattoo. chest tattoo. two tattoos. a few here and there. multiple. no tattoos. monroe piercing. nose piercing. septum piercing. nipple piercing( s ). genital piercing( s ). industrial piercing( s ).earlobe piercing( s ). prince albert piercing. eyebrow piercing( s ). tongue piercing ( lost bet ). lip piercing( s ). tragus piercing. angel bites. labret. stretches out ears. navel piercing. inverse navel piercing. cheek piercing( s ). smiley. nape piercing( s ). no piercings.

clothes. jeans. tight pants. dress pants. over knee socks. tights. leggings. yoga pants. pencil skirt. tight skirt. loose skirt. tight / form - fitting dress. cardigans. fishnet shirt. fishnet leggings. blouse. button up shirt. band t-shirt. sports t-shirt. sweatpants. tank top. cut off t-shirt. designer. high street. online stores. thrift. lingerie. long skirt. miniskirt. maxi dress. sun dress. tie. tuxedo. cocktail dress. high slit dress /  skirt. t-shirt . loose clothing. tight clothing. jean shorts. flak jacket. cloak. mantle. sweater. sweater vest. overcoat. khaki pants. suit. hoodie. harem pants. basketball shorts. boxers. briefs. boxer - briefs. thong. hot pants. panties. bra. sports bra. crop top. corset. ballerina skirt. leotard. jewelry. gloves. fingerless gloves. polka dot. stripes. glitter. silk. lace. leather. velvet. chemise. patterns. florals. neon colors. pastels. plaid. black. purple. dark colors. fur. faux fur. kimono. hanfu. yukata.

shoes. sneakers. slip-ons. flats. slippers. dress shoes. sandals. high heels. kitten heels. ankle boots. combat boots. cowboy boots. knee - high boots. platforms. stripper heels. bare feet. loafers.

[viralhottopics]

Not so haute: six writers on their biggest fashion mistakes

From tights on the beach to head-to-toe taffeta, writers reveal the outfits they regret

Kenya Hunt My version of day-to-night dressing was a night-time look worn all day

Despite working at a fashion magazine, Ive made a few sartorial mistakes. I comfort myself with the sentiment of an Instagram edict I saw: If youve never looked a little dumb, youre not having fun.

Id count the moment I met my husband as an off day, so it pains me no end that the clothes I wore have become a part of our marital lore. In his mind, the outfit is key to a story that must be retold, again and again: She wore a shiny shirt, tight jeans, big, gold hoop earrings, tall boots and a giant white furry jacket. And I said, I need to know this woman.

This visual loudness the metallics, the big proportions, the shaggy texture was my everyday look back in my late 20s, when I was living and working in New York. I dressed this way to please no one other than myself. I relished being able finally to buy and wear the labels I read about in magazines, but could never find in my suburban childhood home in Virginia.

My version of day-to-night dressing was basically a night-time look worn all day ready for whatever fun might happen later. Id think nothing of a morning commute in glittery Miu Miu heels or a gold Chlo sequin skirt. (To be fair, it was the era of high heels, flashy coats and skirts that were either very big and long, or very short.) No matter what the prevailing trend, Ive always had a soft spot for the razzle. For further proof, see this old image of me in Milan, in bright colour and print, layered on top of more colour and print.

Now, my wardrobe stands on a foundation of grey, navy and black, mostly because it suits my lifestyle and the London weather. I limit the flamboyance to my accessories (a bright shoe, big earring, bold handbag) or show it through shape, such as an enormous puffer jacket. Its just that now I choose pragmatic black rather than hot pink.

Theres a real joy that comes with loud dressing, because it requires a certain kind of go-to-hell spirit. Ive come to indulge this in a more restrained way, but I dont regret the mistakes. If I did, Id have divorced my husband a long time ago, for telling that story so very, very often.

Kenya Hunt is fashion features director of Elle.

Ruth Lewy: To think that this was my coolest look

Ruth Lewy, aged 20, with Dizzee Rascal.

It was May 2006 and I was coming to the end of my first year of university. I had just received my first proper student journalism commission: an interview with Dizzee Rascal. I borrowed a Dictaphone and hastily scrawled down three pages of uninventive questions (What is the best thing youve ever got for free?).

Now the important bit: my look. I loved Dizzee; I knew his two albums back to front and had mastered all the words to Fix Up, Look Sharp. What was I going to wear?

To think, looking back, that this was my very best outfit. My coolest look. Not one floral print top but two, a T-shirt layered over a shirt. Not one necklace, but two. (Made with beads collected while InterRailing around Europe. I know.) My curly hair was slicked back with Brylcreem. Off I went, looking like Laura Ashleys long-lost daughter.

He was courteous, holding eye contact and answering all my inane questions with grace. (The best thing he ever got for free? A lifetimes supply of trainers.) I stood up and shook his hand, and he invited me to his afterparty. The next student journalist sat down and went straight in with a question about homophobic lyrics and issues of representation in pop music, and I thought, Ohhhh, thats what journalism is.

The evening took a strange turn. My friends and I crowded into a bar on the high street, where Dizzee had a roped-off section at the back. It didnt take him long to zone in on my gorgeous friend L, persuading her to leave with him. We were agog.

Twenty minutes later, she was back, laughing her head off at the way he had clumsily propositioned her. She chose us over him.

What do I see when I look at this picture? I feel embarrassed at my choices. But Im also glad I spent my 20s dressing like a weirdo: it demonstrates a self-confidence that I dont think I appreciated at the time. These days, you could still file most of my clothes under eclectic, but Im much more careful, uninventive even. Now I tend to wear only one necklace at a time.

My interview never appeared in the end; the other journalist broke the embargo (she went on to write for the Daily Mail: go figure). I was left with only this blurry picture, a reminder of my youthful enthusiasm for floral prints, and an uncanny impression of Dizzee Rascals best chat-up line.

Ruth Lewy is assistant editor of Guardian Weekend.

Nosheen Iqbal: Everyone else on the beach was 89% naked

Nosheen Iqbal in Tuscany, aged 21.

I was a skittish 21-year-old in the mid noughties and I had, against my will, ended up on a Tuscan beach. It was the height of summer, but I was wearing thick black tights, thicker black skirt, black scarf and witchy pumps . Everyone else was dressed in 89% naked and the entire beach was rammed. Id been sent on a work trip with four other journalists who were, as far as I was concerned, super-old (fortysomething) and, I hoped, probably willing to buy my stubborn refusal to strip as some cool youth thing. (They didnt.) I made an attempt to style it out by looking casually moody, staring out to sea behind sunglasses, pretending not to notice my shoes sinking in the sand, legs looking like inky black stumps.

Why dont you take off your tights?

No.

What about if

No.

A couple of key things: the seaside was not on my itinerary and I hadnt packed for it. I didnt (and dont) own swimwear or a bikini, and I didnt (and dont) know how to swim.

Being Muslim is barely an excuse to look as daft as I did; there are chic ways to be modest by the sea childhood memories of Karachis Clifton beach were proof, where lawn cotton tunic and trousers were everyones friend. But being Muslim, plus an average level of body dysmorphia, was my bikini body ready get-out card. I knew there had to be more comfortable ways to be in public than permanently sucking my stomach in wearing what is, essentially, waterproof underwear. But 100-denier hosiery was definitely not the answer.

The general advice to give a shy 21-year-old should always be, Its not as bad as you think, to allay their disproportionate embarrassment. Except, in this case, the cringe levels are fully warranted; I havent been to a hot, sunny beach since.

Nosheen Iqbal is a commissioning editor for G2.

Morwenna Ferrier: I cant remember why I decided to cut off my hair

Morwenna Ferrier in Aldeburgh in her early 20s.

Other outfits have been more challenging. The mother-of-pearl bustier I wore to my graduation, say. Or, recently, the T-shirt printed with Valerie Solanass Scum manifesto I wore to meet a friends baby. But the outfit I am wearing here, worn on a walk along Aldeburgh beach in Suffolk, is the one I most regret.

It started a few months earlier when, in my early 20s, I decided to cut off my hair. I cant remember why. I imagine I fancied a change and, in fairness, I liked it. But then, I looked like a boy in a dress. I reacted by phasing out dresses and instead wearing drainpipes, striped T-shirts and headscarves. None of this was good. In the photo, Im wearing tight cropped trousers under the dress.

I had spent my late teens in dresses, grungy or flowery, with self-cut hems. It was a more innocent time, when I didnt really care what I wore. But the haircut triggered an anxiety.

What is it I regret? Back then it was the haircut; now, its that I ever worried about looking like a boy. I clearly hadnt been paying attention in those Judith Butler seminars; maybe I was still too attached to the binary. As my hair grew out, I started to care for the first time about how I looked. At 24, late in life, I became self-conscious.

Morwenna Ferrier is the Guardians online fashion editor.

Pam Lucas: I looked like a turkey at Christmas

Pam Lucas at a family party, aged 39.

As a single parent in the 80s, I was dirt poor. I didnt have the opportunity to make fashion faux pas because I didnt have any money. We shopped in jumble sales, and we had fun.

My family was invited to a party to celebrate my aunt and uncles golden wedding anniversary. I didnt know them that well, but my mum wanted me to impress them by looking modern. In the 80s, that meant puffy sleeves and big shoulders. My mother came with me to buy the outfit from BHS , so I had to comply. I was 39 at the time.

It was a beautiful colour between purple and lilac but I didnt like the synthetic fabric. It was watermarked all over and had a flared, taffeta skirt and a little jacket with a peplum. I looked like a turkey at Christmas, but it was such a fab party, I soon forgot how uncomfortable I felt.

In a way the outfit is a testament to my relationship with my mother. I was a grownup, with a child of my own, but she was still trying to keep hold of the mum bit of herself.

Pam Lucas is a model and appears regularly in All Ages.

Tshepo Mokoena: I settled on a vague hippy child look

Tshepo Mokoena at 19.

It would be nice if we could start over. To spare me, and others my age, a fair bit of niggling shame, by wiping all early photos from our Facebook accounts. Anyone who set up a profile between 2004 and 2009 now lugs around the digital baggage of horrible pictures of misspent youth and terrible outfits.

Case in point: this delight of a photo. I was 19, killing time between the second and third years of uni in Brighton. In a few weeks, my housemate and I would set off on an impulsive charity volunteering trip to Kerala because and I still cringe wed watched Wes Andersons The Darjeeling Limited.

Until my early 20s, my aesthetic consisted of not knowing when to edit. At 18, I would layer at least three beaded necklaces, two chunky bracelets, about 17 bangles and seven rings, for no good reason.

I attended secondary school in Harare, Zimbabwe, largely insulated from fashion, more concerned with my whizzing hormones than the latest velour tracksuit. I settled on a vague hippy child look at 15 and filled my wardrobe with earthy prints, flared denim and jewellery picked up in local markets. By 19, I looked like a substitute art teacher.

If youre old enough to have only private, analogue photography from your youth, or young enough to have crafted a near-fictional version of yourself online, youre spared the permanent reminder of your mistakes: 1,287 grim images owned by Mark Zuckerberg. I implore other twentysomethings to join me in calling for a digital purge. Its time.

Tshepo Mokoena is the editor of Noisey.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2oSS1JN

from Not so haute: six writers on their biggest fashion mistakes

[vdbstore-blog]

New Post has been published on Vintage Designer Handbags Online | Vintage Preowned Chanel Luxury Designer Brands Bags & Accessories

New Post has been published on http://vintagedesignerhandbagsonline.com/not-so-haute-six-writers-on-their-biggest-fashion-mistakes/

Not so haute: six writers on their biggest fashion mistakes

Kenya Hunt ‘My version of day-to-night dressing was a night-time look worn all day’

Despite working at a fashion magazine, I’ve made a few sartorial mistakes. I comfort myself with the sentiment of an Instagram edict I saw: “If you’ve never looked a little dumb, you’re not having fun.”

I’d count the moment I met my husband as an off day, so it pains me no end that the clothes I wore have become a part of our marital lore. In his mind, the outfit is key to a story that must be retold, again and again: “She wore a shiny shirt, tight jeans, big, gold hoop earrings, tall boots and a giant white furry jacket. And I said, ‘I need to know this woman.’”

This visual loudness – the metallics, the big proportions, the shaggy texture – was my everyday look back in my late 20s, when I was living and working in New York. I dressed this way to please no one other than myself. I relished being able finally to buy and wear the labels I read about in magazines, but could never find in my suburban childhood home in Virginia.

My version of day-to-night dressing was basically a night-time look worn all day – ready for whatever fun might happen later. I’d think nothing of a morning commute in glittery Miu Miu heels or a gold Chloé sequin skirt. (To be fair, it was the era of high heels, flashy coats and skirts that were either very big and long, or very short.) No matter what the prevailing trend, I’ve always had a soft spot for the razzle. For further proof, see this old image of me in Milan, in bright colour and print, layered on top of more colour and print.

Now, my wardrobe stands on a foundation of grey, navy and black, mostly because it suits my lifestyle and the London weather. I limit the flamboyance to my accessories (a bright shoe, big earring, bold handbag) or show it through shape, such as an enormous puffer jacket. It’s just that now I choose pragmatic black rather than hot pink.

There’s a real joy that comes with loud dressing, because it requires a certain kind of go-to-hell spirit. I’ve come to indulge this in a more restrained way, but I don’t regret the mistakes. If I did, I’d have divorced my husband a long time ago, for telling that story so very, very often.

Ruth Lewy: ‘To think that this was my coolest look’

Ruth Lewy, aged 20, with Dizzee Rascal.

It was May 2006 and I was coming to the end of my first year of university. I had just received my first proper student journalism commission: an interview with Dizzee Rascal. I borrowed a Dictaphone and hastily scrawled down three pages of uninventive questions (“What is the best thing you’ve ever got for free?”).

Now the important bit: my look. I loved Dizzee; I knew his two albums back to front and had mastered all the words to Fix Up, Look Sharp. What was I going to wear?

To think, looking back, that this was my very best outfit. My coolest look. Not one floral print top but two, a T-shirt layered over a shirt. Not one necklace, but two. (Made with beads collected while InterRailing around Europe. I know.) My curly hair was slicked back with Brylcreem. Off I went, looking like Laura Ashley’s long-lost daughter.

He was courteous, holding eye contact and answering all my inane questions with grace. (The best thing he ever got for free? A lifetime’s supply of trainers.) I stood up and shook his hand, and he invited me to his afterparty. The next student journalist sat down and went straight in with a question about homophobic lyrics and issues of representation in pop music, and I thought, “Ohhhh, that’s what journalism is.”

The evening took a strange turn. My friends and I crowded into a bar on the high street, where Dizzee had a roped-off section at the back. It didn’t take him long to zone in on my gorgeous friend L, persuading her to leave with him. We were agog.

Twenty minutes later, she was back, laughing her head off at the way he had clumsily propositioned her. She chose us over him.

What do I see when I look at this picture? I feel embarrassed at my choices. But I’m also glad I spent my 20s dressing like a weirdo: it demonstrates a self-confidence that I don’t think I appreciated at the time. These days, you could still file most of my clothes under “eclectic”, but I’m much more careful, uninventive even. Now I tend to wear only one necklace at a time.

My interview never appeared in the end; the other journalist broke the embargo (she went on to write for the Daily Mail: go figure). I was left with only this blurry picture, a reminder of my youthful enthusiasm for floral prints, and an uncanny impression of Dizzee Rascal’s best chat-up line.

Ruth Lewy is assistant editor of Guardian Weekend.

Nosheen Iqbal: ‘Everyone else on the beach was 89% naked’

Nosheen Iqbal in Tuscany, aged 21.

I was a skittish 21-year-old in the mid noughties and I had, against my will, ended up on a Tuscan beach. It was the height of summer, but I was wearing thick black tights, thicker black skirt, black scarf and witchy pumps . Everyone else was dressed in 89% naked and the entire beach was rammed. I’d been sent on a work trip with four other journalists who were, as far as I was concerned, super-old (fortysomething) and, I hoped, probably willing to buy my stubborn refusal to strip as some cool youth thing. (They didn’t.) I made an attempt to style it out by looking casually moody, staring out to sea behind sunglasses, pretending not to notice my shoes sinking in the sand, legs looking like inky black stumps.

Why don’t you take off your tights?

No.

What about if…

No.

A couple of key things: the seaside was not on my itinerary and I hadn’t packed for it. I didn’t (and don’t) own swimwear or a bikini, and I didn’t (and don’t) know how to swim.

Being Muslim is barely an excuse to look as daft as I did; there are chic ways to be modest by the sea – childhood memories of Karachi’s Clifton beach were proof, where lawn cotton tunic and trousers were everyone’s friend. But being Muslim, plus an average level of body dysmorphia, was my “bikini body ready” get-out card. I knew there had to be more comfortable ways to be in public than permanently sucking my stomach in wearing what is, essentially, waterproof underwear. But 100-denier hosiery was definitely not the answer.

The general advice to give a shy 21-year-old should always be, “It’s not as bad as you think”, to allay their disproportionate embarrassment. Except, in this case, the cringe levels are fully warranted; I haven’t been to a hot, sunny beach since.

Nosheen Iqbal is a commissioning editor for G2.

Morwenna Ferrier: ‘I can’t remember why I decided to cut off my hair’

Morwenna Ferrier in Aldeburgh in her early 20s.

Other outfits have been more challenging. The mother-of-pearl bustier I wore to my graduation, say. Or, recently, the T-shirt printed with Valerie Solanas’s Scum manifesto I wore to meet a friend’s baby. But the outfit I am wearing here, worn on a walk along Aldeburgh beach in Suffolk, is the one I most regret.

It started a few months earlier when, in my early 20s, I decided to cut off my hair. I can’t remember why. I imagine I fancied a change and, in fairness, I liked it. But then, I looked like a boy in a dress. I reacted by phasing out dresses and instead wearing drainpipes, striped T-shirts and headscarves. None of this was good. In the photo, I’m wearing tight cropped trousers under the dress.

I had spent my late teens in dresses, grungy or flowery, with self-cut hems. It was a more innocent time, when I didn’t really care what I wore. But the haircut triggered an anxiety.

What is it I regret? Back then it was the haircut; now, it’s that I ever worried about looking like a boy. I clearly hadn’t been paying attention in those Judith Butler seminars; maybe I was still too attached to the binary. As my hair grew out, I started to care for the first time about how I looked. At 24, late in life, I became self-conscious.

Pam Lucas: ‘I looked like a turkey at Christmas’

Pam Lucas at a family party, aged 39.

As a single parent in the 80s, I was dirt poor. I didn’t have the opportunity to make fashion faux pas because I didn’t have any money. We shopped in jumble sales, and we had fun.

My family was invited to a party to celebrate my aunt and uncle’s golden wedding anniversary. I didn’t know them that well, but my mum wanted me to impress them by looking “modern”. In the 80s, that meant puffy sleeves and big shoulders. My mother came with me to buy the outfit from BHS , so I had to comply. I was 39 at the time.

It was a beautiful colour – between purple and lilac – but I didn’t like the synthetic fabric. It was watermarked all over and had a flared, taffeta skirt and a little jacket with a peplum. I looked like a turkey at Christmas, but it was such a fab party, I soon forgot how uncomfortable I felt.

In a way the outfit is a testament to my relationship with my mother. I was a grownup, with a child of my own, but she was still trying to keep hold of the mum bit of herself.

Tshepo Mokoena: ‘I settled on a vague hippy child look’

Tshepo Mokoena at 19.

It would be nice if we could start over. To spare me, and others my age, a fair bit of niggling shame, by wiping all early photos from our Facebook accounts. Anyone who set up a profile between 2004 and 2009 now lugs around the digital baggage of horrible pictures of misspent youth and terrible outfits.

Case in point: this delight of a photo. I was 19, killing time between the second and third years of uni in Brighton. In a few weeks, my housemate and I would set off on an impulsive charity volunteering trip to Kerala because – and I still cringe – we’d watched Wes Anderson’s The Darjeeling Limited.

Until my early 20s, my aesthetic consisted of not knowing when to edit. At 18, I would “layer” at least three beaded necklaces, two chunky bracelets, about 17 bangles and seven rings, for no good reason.

I attended secondary school in Harare, Zimbabwe, largely insulated from fashion, more concerned with my whizzing hormones than the latest velour tracksuit. I settled on a vague “hippy child” look at 15 and filled my wardrobe with earthy prints, flared denim and jewellery picked up in local markets. By 19, I looked like a substitute art teacher.

If you’re old enough to have only private, analogue photography from your youth, or young enough to have crafted a near-fictional version of yourself online, you’re spared the permanent reminder of your mistakes: 1,287 grim images owned by Mark Zuckerberg. I implore other twentysomethings to join me in calling for a digital purge. It’s time.

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