There were scarecrows at Winners. Forest Hill matrons with leggings mummy-wrapping their broomstick legs, slumming amid the hoi-poloi in their giant white sneakers. But their backcombed Jackie-O hair and obviously lined lips gave away their demographic as easily as their collagen-plump cheekbones. I found myself identifying with the 20-something ingénue who had obviously never heard Coco Chanel’s credo that “less is more”. I mentally gave her some advice, “lose the ear-muffs, the ear-danglers, the ear-buds, something.” But sensing she would mentally give me the finger, became old, realizing I was the same generation as the old crones. Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.” I think I’ll stick to shopping online.
