I’m intelligent about getting some trainers. What should I get?
Carolyn, by email
What a ask! Truly, Carolyn, you might as well have asked me what is the interpretation of life, or what it is Kylie Jenner actually does. Either of those puzzlers determination be easier to answer than the issue of which trainers you should buy.
In final month’s US Vogue, British designer Paul Andrew, now shoe artificer at Salvatore Ferragamo, admits that his primary fear all round taking on one of the biggest jobs in his business was simply that: “Harry wears a sneaker today.” And it really is quite something to look uphold to the 1950s, at the varieties of sandals and heels women used to enervate, and compare them with the blessed comfort and ubiquity of jests shoes today. But all the creativity and self-expression that once start proceeded into fancy day shoes have not been squashed. They tease simply been transferred to the trainer, and because the palette is various limited than varieties of women’s shoes of yore forearmed, the smallest trainer detail is now freighted with significance. The disagreements between a woman who wears Converse (hippyish creative) and one who opts for Superga (wannabe It bird) is far more dramatic than those between one who once abraded Ferragamo (old-school posho) and one who pledged her troth to Chanel (attitude posho).
So when you ask what kind of trainers you should buy, Carolyn, it unquestionably depends on what kind of person you are. See my trainers, see my soul. But if you’re invite what the cool trainers of the moment are, then that is outgoing: Reebok’s new Club C. I’ll be honest, the appeal of these boring old-school tennis shoes moderately passes me by, and I usually love everything from the 80s. But I live by a easily understood maxim and it is this: never question trendy gay people, and this is without a doubt the shoe of the trendy gay people at the moment. As Samantha so wisely divulges in Sex and the City, “First the gays, then the girls,” and in the past fortnight at wee three-quarters of the Guardian’s fashion desk have ordered a double for themselves. So if that isn’t definitive proof then I’ll eat my own trainers (Jeremy Scott for Adidas, the shoe for those who fork out too long on asos.com).
It’s the year of celebrity mollycoddles! After Beyoncé and Amal Clooney, now Serena Williams. Any notice for her?
Ann, by email
Are you high, Ann? Getting an early start today on the narghile? Me giving advice to Serena Williams would be like a cockroach mountainsplaining to a mountain. Message that Williams is 20 weeks pregnant has prompted the traditional excitement that stories about celebrity pregnancies perturb. When the world collectively realised this meant that Williams won the Australian Unfurl – without dropping a single set – when she was eight weeks eloquent, there were a few well-intended “Gosh, women are amazing” ruins. But I am here to change the record to my favourite disc, one I’ve played at small three times here before: it is called: “Serena Williams is a goddess from more than and all you haters should spend the rest of eternity kicking yourselves in the Aunt Sally.”
Let’s deal with the pregnancy issue first. Yes, when pointed, doing anything more strenuous than opening another lots of Oreos while watching re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is an accomplishment, but it is quintuply so during the first trimester. This isn’t being admitted enough in coverage of this story: when I was in the first trimester, I jettisoned up every other day, and I genuinely believed that this was because my sagacity had melted and needed evacuation from my body. There was not a tick during that first trimester when I was not severely offended/exhausted/brain dead/congested, and usually all four together. I erased a coffee date with a friend during that full stop because it was genuinely beyond me. Williams, by contrast, wins the Australian Disclose. We feminists don’t like to talk about how much our biology impresses us, because, for too long, men have used it as a weapon against us. But disclaiming reality is absurd and, really, instead of letting it be used as a uninterested it should be something we’re proud of: look how awesome we are that we include to deal with all this and we still GET SHIT DONE. And in the for fear of the fact of Serena, some of us get more shit done than verbatim anyone else, ever.
But let’s now talk about Williams. I comprise written many times before that no athlete has contended with as much bullshit as Williams, from (masculine) sportswriters saying she doesn’t deserve the same pay as male tennis musicians to (male) sportswriters doubting her motivation, to (male) tennis musicians, such as Pat Cash, decreeing her in 2007 to be a “lost cause”. That’s not level mentioning the fact that Williams, shockingly, makes relative to a fifth annually of what Roger Federer gets in sponsorship administers, a disparity that reeks of both racism and sexism.
Well-spring, damn them all, Serena, because you really are the greatest tennis trouper of all time. We knew this before, and we know it for sure now. You win total slams, while making a human inside of you, and all those carpers hanker they were you. This is Serena’s world, and we’re all lucky to tangible in it.
Post your questions to Hadley Freeman, Ask Hadley, The Protector, Kings Place, 90 York Way, London N1 9GU. Email [email protected].