A journalist for a Sunday newspaper recently wrote an article that attracted a lot of criticism. In it, she launched an attack on what she claimed was a lack of dress sense exhibited by some Fianna Fáil politicians attending their recent think-in.
She described the party as “failing to keep up appearances” and mainly focused on female representatives. The journalist suggested that a senator should have “run an iron” over her dress, and a TD looked like she had been “tango-ed” dressed in orange, adding that, “a circus tent is a more appropriate place for that orange suit.”
Offaly TD, Barry Cowen, came in for a bashing too. It was strong stuff, and the journalist and newspaper later apologised.
I’m glad that journalist didn’t live near me in the 1960s. Back then most of us dressed the same; white shirts, black or grey trousers, and black or brown leather shoes, no matter what the occasion was. There was no such thing as casual wear, at least not where I lived.
Mothers had it tough trying to keep us young lads in clean clothes and decent shoes. Fashion was the least of their worries.
Between growth spurts, climbing trees and playing football on the road, everything wore out quickly.
Heels on socks and elbows on jumpers were patched regularly to extend their life, and nobody commented on the state of the clothes. Until the Yanks arrived.
The family next door had relatives who visited from America occasionally, including two boys around my own age who were a constant source of wonder. They didn’t dress like the rest of us. They were tanned, and they wore jeans, sneakers, and brightly coloured t-shirts, while the only colour we sported was a green shade of envy.
When that style eventually made its way across the pond, we soon learned how to dress casually in clothes that were comfortable and colourful.
I adapted to it very quickly and the thought of wearing any kind of formal clothing today makes me wince.
These days, I escape to Cyprus as often as possible and as soon as I land, it’s shorts, t-shirts, and flip- flops for the duration of the stay. I don’t need a large supply either because I can rinse them out in the washing machine, throw them out on the balcony, and they’re ready for use again the following day. It’s an easy, uncomplicated lifestyle… until the topless men arrive.
There is a time and a place for men to go bare-chested, but going to the supermarket without a shirt is neither the time nor the place.
There is only one thing worse than standing next to a semi-naked sweaty man at the check-out, and that’s sitting next to him while trying to eat lunch. It’s an assault on the senses and shouldn’t be allowed, but others take a different view.
The Irish Naturist Association is the home of naturism in this country, and they are celebrating more than 50 years of naturist activities. They say naturism is a wholesome family activity which promotes body confidence and harmony with nature through social nudity in a non-sexual environment.
According to them, it has proven mental and physical benefits, such as body acceptance regardless of size, shape, or age.
Source: Echo Live.ie
Original publication 27 September, 2021
Posted on NatCorn 4 weeks ago
Reference to an article does not infer endorsement of any views expressed.