“I like your shoes”
“Thanks, they’re Patrick Coxes.”
“Oh, you borrowed them? Small feet for a bloke.”
I paraphrase Spaced of course. The best sitcom Britain ever produced, and one of the best when-fashion-and-feminism-meet-total-failure scenes ever written.
But as Gary Bradshaw would no doubt ask… was Daisy so stupid? Is the line between label and label really so obvious? Can we all be expected to know difference between a designer label and a name label? Or is it just the difference between a tag and a price tag?
I ask, because as part of their uniform all Leicester police officers, community support officers and special constables will have to display their names on their epaulets by next month. The move is, according to Inspector Ivan Odell, aimed at increasing public trust in the police. A name tag will inspire confidence and security, and is a fine idea if you ask me. Especially if those police are likely to start knocking commuters to the floor.
Personally, I think that all fashionistas should, by law, have to do the same thing with lesser-known-and-massively-hip designer labels. If you’re wearing Hannah Marshall, then you should have to say so, possibly on your shoulder, so you can’t get smug when people ask you if you’re wearing motorbike leathers. It’s only fair.
We’ve all had to wear embarrassing or annoying information on our uniforms. I had an apron that wished everyone a Merry Christmas… in September. I’ve seen work t-shirts that have told me to have a Rocking Good Day. I’ve stared at badges that told me to “Ask Me Anything!”
Surely, compared to this, your name is getting off rather lightly. Unless, of course, your name is Hugh Jarse.
Nell Frizzell
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