When mumsie wasn’t chastising "the help", as she called them—our servants—or when she wasn’t ripping up carpet in search of painkillers, dear mumsie was showing Master Behooving (that’s me) lashings of female attention. I became accustomed. I now cannot last more than a week without attending some function where women flock all around me. And like all ladies men, I lure them with garments. Leather soled shoes, Savile Row linen, wee shiny things catching their eyes such as cufflinks. I follow mens fashions, of course.
Imagine my delight then, to find bicycles have become what sheepdogs were in the eighties, smack habits were in the nineties, or sons with bed-hair were in the naughties. Bikes are the newest most hip fashion accessory. Once was the time when the funniest male models on bikes were those found in cycling mags, with their normal guys’ thighs swimming in nicks designed to fit legs such as ours. I am so so glad to have lived until now, to be witnessing laughs such as those pictured below.
From left: tall handsome model posing on teeniest bike he could find; just chillin’ with knee under armpit; clearing thigh from townie bar end then falling off with cool face as though you’re still riding; having more trouble folding a Brompton than a new beach cabana; riding while smoking with stand down and front wheel fallen from forks, on bike wrapped in crepe paper, of course.
Links to other such gems from the fashion world gladly received. Just click on comments.