Issue 7 - Dressed To The DS9s

There is one passion of the quintessential geek with which I have never found myself in sympathy: the pressing need to dress up and go out in public as their favourite sci-fi or fantasy character.

Let me say, here, that I have nothing against proudly showing your allegiance to the Jedi Order or your love of mutantkind by, for example, sporting a witty t-shirt from www.ThinkGeek.com (I, myself, am very fond of my HAN SHOT FIRST t-shirt and have encountered friends in strange places as a result of wearing it on long plane flights). I have even been known to model Princess Leia's plaits for the occasional fancy-dress party. I'm afraid, however, that I cannot bring myself to go the whole hog and roll up to a public event wearing pointy ears and a robe.

Does this make me any less of a fangirl?

My childhood town being rather skint on conventions, my first real introduction to this odd trait did not occur until the late 90s, when I attended several midnight premieres only to find myself standing in line for popcorn with a dozen Gandalfs or Obiwans, or listening to the "clack, clack" of plastic lightsaber battles raging around me as I camped in the hallway outside the cinema, waiting to be let in.

This practice, I have since discovered, is not confined to the depths of night or to World of Warcraft singles events. It is so prevalent, I have been forced to coin the term "Extreme Fantasism" to define it.* The main outlet for any Extreme Fantasist is undoubtedly the fan convention. You will find these everywhere from Sydney to San Diego and are the places to be seen for any self-respecting geek. For the Extreme Fantasist, much self-satisfaction is derived from attending a convention dressed as Spock and then running into Leonard Nimoy. For me, on the other hand, such an occurrence would be the height of shame.

Although the good ol’ U.S. of A. has more than its fair share of Extreme Fantasists, it by no means holds the exclusive rights. Whilst travelling home on the bus one Friday night close to the Witching Hour, I was shocked to see a coven meeting openly in Trafalgar Square. It was a moment before I realised that real witches most likely do not wear black pointy hats. Nor do they wear school uniforms under their robes and draw lightning-bolt scars on their foreheads. Ah, yes, "Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows" had been released in bookstores at 1200 that night.

In most situations, I’m all in favour of expressing yourself and having some fun with fashion, but I admit I cringed openly when I arrived at a black-tie Star Trek event to find one solitary guest dressed up as a Bajoran ambassador. (She looked so pleased with herself, though, that I didn’t have the heart to remind her the event was in celebration of the original series and Bajor had yet to be discovered.)

I am not sure exactly where my reluctance to join the ranks of the sartorially challenged stems from. It could simply be a fear of making myself look like an idiot. It could be the result of years of subjection to horrific dance costumes (note to parents/teachers: if your child/student already has image issues related to their weight, don't make them dress up as a fat baby and dance in front of their whole school). Or, perhaps I am entirely missing the point. Maybe I should try it, just once - purely as a method of research, of course. Methinks a character with a full-face mask might be the best option…

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*For a good example of Extreme Fantasism, see Justin Long’s character in “Galaxy Quest“.

Issue 5 - The Price of Reason

There are certain things in life I wish someone would just get right. Simple things, which the majority of the Western World uses every day, like staplers and photocopiers.

I have been three years in my current job and not once, in all that time, have I had a stapler that staples. As for photocopiers: don't get me started. The current model I am forced to work with has a feeder that is capable of dragging the entire Yellow Pages through at once (completely unbidden) and then jamming on a piece of fluff. My relationship with a new photocopier does not reach a truce until I have worked out the exact position to place The Boot. In photocopier terms, I have discovered, The Boot is far more expedient than calling in an engineer. It also has the advantage of simultaneously relieving stress and letting the photocopier know who's boss.

You would think, by now, with the amount of usage these things get, somebody would have come up with a design that actually works. You know why I think they haven't? Because too much of the developers' time is wasted trying to unjam their office staplers and photocopiers.

Take jeans, as another example. I do not know one woman who doesn't struggle to find jeans that fit. Jeans are all designed for the Kate Mosses of this world, or, if those of us with a larger derrière do discover a pair that we can wriggle our way into, what do we find? The designer has automatically assumed we also have a beer belly to rival Homer Simpson's. We're women! We have curves! The general rule is hips: out; waist: in.

Starbucks' spoons. How hard can it be to come up with a type of plastic spoon without a razor-sharp edge that strikes mid-muffin and leaves you vaguely resembling The Joker?

Toilets! If Australia can make toilets that flush properly and don't require plunging at the first reminder of last night's curry, why the heck can't Britain and the USA do the same? This makes no sense to me. (On a personal note: WHY OH WHY does Britain have this insane policy of not allowing power-points and light switches in bathrooms?! I hate drying my hair in my bedroom!)

While we're on this subject of nonsensical things, why do they fill olive jars right to the top, so that you cannot possibly open the lid without getting covered in garlic-y brine?

Why don't they fill chip packets up? I don't ever recall asking for “half a packet of delicious, crispy, artery-clogging, potato-y goodness and half a packet of air, please.”

Why do they always discontinue the nicest-smelling fabric softener/perfume/air freshener/deodorant? And the best colour lipstick/nail polish/eye shadow/foundation?

Why do software upgrades always remove the best features of the programme and make it more unstable and completely incompatible with all your other programmes?

Think how wonderful it would be if producers actually made products that did what people wanted them to do! Surely, this is not too much to ask? Or is the price of reason in design just too high? Personally, I think the man who could make a common product using a bit of common sense would be raking in the cash.

But hey, what would I know? I'm just the consumer.

Issue 4 - Hair Maketh The Man

(Here's one for the ladies and for discerning men.)

Hair.

Not the musical, but the organic stuff we all have growing on us.

People spend millions trying to get rid of it; people spend millions trying to get more of it. Some people really need to spend some of their millions doing either/or (Donald Trump, I'm looking at you).

I am most fascinated by the role that hair plays in the consideration of a person's attractiveness; not only that, but how popular culture influences that consideration.

Particularly for men. Remember the undercut? Or the shave-and-peroxide phase?

Over the last 12 months or so, I have noticed a gradual shift in the popular perception of what is "hot" in a man and what is not. For several years, every teen idol and pin-up boy sported a variation on the Emo Fringe - the more side-swept, the better. The current poster child for the Emo Fringe is Zac Efron (although he stole the title from Pete Wentz, who was too busy having babies and Twittering about his personal life to notice). The Emo Fringe in its purest form was complemented by skinny jeans and layers of eyeliner. Oddly enough, tattoos would also get you points. In a way, it was the slick, modern, commercialised version of punk, with a hefty dose of glam rock thrown in.

And chest hair? Pffft!! Don't even GO there! A man didn't get anywhere in the fashionable world unless he was waxed and buffed to a shine. Only the most attractive of the most attractive could afford to get away with anything different. For a while there, it looked like Hugh Jackman was the only one managing to hold his own - ironic, really, considering his all-singing, all-dancing background.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I like a pretty-boy*, but I did feel like the look had become a bit tired. Then, one day, I opened a magazine and found not one, but two fashion adverts featuring very manly men with very manly chest hair proudly on display. What had happened?

Back-track about a year. Enter a certain young vampi-- sorry, a certain young actor by the name of Robert Pattinson. At first, Twilight fans were horrified. This was not the Edward Cullen of their fantasies! He was…scruffy! His hair had not been touched by a pair of straighteners! And what was that growth beneath his shirt?! But, he was…funny…and he sang like a tortured angel…and he played piano…OK, so maybe he didn't sparkle, but that was part of his charm…

Cue screaming girls and massive over-exposure.

There were other signs, too, that made me suspect the winds of change were blowing, bringing female affections back around to the more manly physique: Gerard Butler suddenly surged in popularity after bulking up for "300", mo's and beards were appearing here and there at random, I had never seen so much gush about a pair of thick eyebrows as I was seeing about those belonging to a certain supervillain named Sylar (and if Zachary Quinto grew a bit of facial hair? Look out! Fan girls everywhere were suddenly volunteering to have his babies).

My suspicions were subsequently confirmed by the attention surrounding a particular King. A King of Leon, to be precise. What's interesting here is that the Followill clan has always been a hairy bunch. In truth, they used to look like lumberjacks who had stumbled across 70s fashion a couple of decades too late. But one member, in particular, made some drastic follicular changes and - voilà! - all sorts of things were on fire.

You might be forgiven, at this point, for thinking I mean the bass player, Jared. He is the obvious heartthrob of the band: the cut jaw, the eyes, the cool movie star confidence; he's also formerly a proud supporter of the Emo Fringe - even Miley Cyrus loves him. But, no.

Instead, take one blue-eyed lead singer named Caleb, shorten his ridiculously long hair, grow and cultivate a nice tidy beard/longish stubble and you have a man who looks as good as he sounds. And, boy, is that good.

Now, if only we could get Dave Grohl to see that less is more, all would be well with the world of rock.

I've been thinking through my knowledge of pop history and have decided that I cannot picture any of the following without thinking of their iconic hair:

Jennifer Aniston - "The Rachel"
Salvador Dali
Prince Harry
Tom Selleck
Kurt Cobain (single-handedly responsible for the grunge mop)
Slash
Farrah Fawcett (RIP)
Danny Masterson as Steven Hyde
Freddy Mercury
Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow or Edward Scissorhands
Princess Leia
Amy Winehouse
Albert Einstein
Victoria Beckham (don't hate me, just face it - whenever she changes her hair, the whole world stops to look)
The Beatles
The Queen of Simple Chic, Audrey Hepburn.

Wanna get noticed? Storm the charts? Start a revolution? Then either get with the hottest hair trend, or start one.

*Although Harrison Ford will always be top of my list.

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RIP MJ