A Virtual Bimbo's Guide to Fashion
By Jeremy Tarr FOR LA2DAY.COM 27 Mar 2008
Just yesterday whilst drinking my morning coffee, I read a fascinating article about the young Lolita nymphets of the Great British Isles who were partaking in channelling their innermost bimbo in that magical virtual world of the Interweb via a site charmingly called MissBimbo.com. What really struck my fancy was MissBimbo's by-line which read "virtual fashion game." Virtual fashion game? Why should a virtual fashion game be restricted to underage girls whilst a true fashionista, like myself, languishes on the sidelines? So I joined.
I've become a seventeen year old girl!
My name was now Violetta de Quincey (descendant, I like to think, of my favourite opium eater Thomas de Quincey). My IQ was a shockingly low 70 (I'm surprised I could manage to keep from comatose drooling); I had one thousand dollars to my name and a glorious bosom! I was starting this life homeless and strangely naked (thank goodness for that glorious bosom). My first task was to get my taut arse off the street and into a flat (it seems I was comfortable wandering the city with my bits flashing the world). For twenty-one dollars a day, I'd rented a single room studio. It's not much to my taste but since my IQ was only 70, I like to think I was operating off a primordial instinct that only hungers for shelter and doesn't care for the design comforts of Osborne and Little wallpaper.
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Violetta de Quincey |
Still naked, I went to the salon and got a blonde pigtail haircut to assure I looked every bit as dumb as I was. Like the apple was to Eve, this coif was to me: I finally seemed to realise I was naked, so off I went to a boutique called Nineland's. The clothes at Nineland's were expensive and for trollops (suddenly I felt as if I were back at LA Fashion Week - zing!). I couldn't afford a decent dress and so I opted for a tight-fitting mauve top, a shockingly high-cut brown skirt and a pair of white go-go boots. I couldn't afford knickers. I looked quite the slag!
Standing back for a moment, not as Violetta de Quincey, but me - an angry fashionista -, I must say this ensemble is disgusting. If I were a bundle of femininity instead of the lumping hulk of masculinity that I so clearly am, I would much prefer the sumptuousness of the Vivienne Westwood Anglomania Fichu Striped Blouse (candy-stripers eat your hearts out!), coupled with the handsome simplicity of the Marc Jacobs Herringbone Stripe Skirt (Mr. Jacobs has yet to do wrong), worn not with go-go boots but with a pair of the divinely dapper Christian Louboutin Moro Shoe Boots (I shall marry the Cinderella who calls these her slippers). |
Alas, in this virtual world I'm not an angry fashionista but a lovely slag and taste, it seems, requires an IQ above 70: that must be why bimbos look the way they do.
Now donning Nineland's best, I was ready to take to the finest discotheque in all the virtual land and find myself a handsome lover who will pay top dollar for my copious kisses. Ah, to be young and in love again! I'm terribly excited...
All clothes available at www.net-a-porter.com
If you beautiful reader thought this story was a gas, then wait till you read the flatulence that is: Thank You Fatty-Fat-Fat-Fat.
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