A Question of Taste

When these jeans were first unearthed from the dressing up box some two or three years ago I shuddered. They called to mind the kind of garment that Eddie from Absolutely Fabulous would descend on in a cloud of exclamations and “sweetie darlings!” The swirls, patterns and colour scheme were part henna tattoo, part psychedelic ode to the nineties. I stuffed them back into the dark corner they’d emerged from, shaking my head. My mum had found them, and a partner pair, in the local charity shop for a pound apiece. The reason for purchase was the label stitched into the back: Jean-Paul Gaultier. They were bought for the sheer hell of it. No need to wear them – just...