August 02, 2010

Woogs of the PlayBoy Mansion

OK, so being a fatshonista can be tricky. You need to know what trends to jump on and which to give a wide berth to. Today's lesson is about Bunny Ears, which have continually been hopping onto catwalks and magazines for the past 12 months. And all I can respond to it is DIE BUNNY DIE.

Bunny Ears should go back to where they started, at Hugh's Place. They just look better on surgically enhanced peroxided blondes don't you think? Just a bit proper hey. You need DD cups to accessorise them. Here is the late ANS showing the skinny runts at the Paris shows how to pull of the bunny look, complete with an Easter Egg Hunt. (Is it just me or does she look a little stoned in this photo?? At least she can scoff a few eggs to take the edge of those munchies.)

I know this is cute and all, but there is something that deeply disturbs me about this representation of Bunny Ears.

Looking back into the history of Bunny Ears as fashion, we can pinpoint it to the establishment of the PlayBoy Clubs. (lifted from Wiki)

The Playboy Bunnies were waitresses who served drinks at Playboy Clubs. There were different types of Bunnies, including the Door Bunny, Cigarette Bunny, Floor Bunny, Playmate Bunny and the Jet Bunnies (waitresses that served on the Playboy Jet). To become a Bunny women were first carefully chosen and selected from auditions. Then they underwent thorough and strict training before officially becoming a Bunny. Bunnies were required to be able to identify 143 brands of liquor and know how to garnish 20 cocktail variations. Most dating or mingling with customers was forbidden. Customers were also not allowed to touch the Bunnies, and demerits were given if a Bunny's appearance was not properly organized. Only the C1, most important "Keyholders" (members of the Playboy Club), were allowed to date a Bunny.

So to bang a bunny, you had to be a member of the club... Um OK then perhaps a slight hint of a well organised prostitution ring. I would so be a door bunny, or a jet bunny. Or some type of fucked up myxomatosis bunny.

The inspiration for the post came about on the weekend when I spied this in the current edition of Shop Till You Drop (my personal porn of choice).

Now do not start bleating on about how fashion should be whimsical and fun. This is just plain STOOPID. And considering you would have to stack shelves at Frankins for 2 weeks straight to be able to afford them, Ms Nerida Winter, you are officially on my list.

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