Ivy Leagues ahead
May 27, 2021
3 minutes
WHEN I WAS A TEEN, you could look like a yob, a toff, or “alternative”. That was it. You paid your money, you made your choice. In masculine style terms, said options were represented as a trinity. There was George Michael, all Sun-Inned bouff, nicotine-orange tan, bleached denim and pastels.
There was Rupert Everett, he of the floppy fringe, patrician pallor, cheekbones and cricket whites. And there was Some Goth from The Cure: even bigger hair, green complexion, dank robes and badly-applied slap.
As a middle-class girl from Birmingham, it was clear which
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