First it was the leggings…

It always starts small. A little thing that you brush off, thinking, Surely we have learned our lesson There are pictures, solid evidence of tragic choices. The next generation will know better, we tell ourselves. Such collective stupidity could never happen again.

I am of course, talking about 80’s fashion, something which has been threatening to come back for the last five years.

Now it’s here, an epidemic that has spread beyond the hipster crowd and infected the major population. The environment is replete with skinny jeans, leggings, oversized sweaters, pointy shoes, striped nails and florescent brights. I’ve seen make up ads where the eye makeup has the look of peacock feathers, identical to what I saw in my junior high algebra class.

I mean, look at this:

Give her a mullet and holy Sheena Easton!

This new 80s strain has infiltrated well beyond fashion, creating mutations of childhood cartoon shows released into the public. “Transformers”, “Thundercats”…shows that weren’t even good the first time! Shows that the creators admitted had been designed specifically to sell toys. Yet even with full knowledge of this, the sheen of nostalgia has overwritten objective reality.

I could have stopped my fashion and pop cultural knowledge as a freshman in high school and been perfectly up to date now.

Really? A jumpsuit?

To paraphrase, those who do not know their fashion history, are doomed to repeat it.

So, jumpsuits. Quite popular in the 70’s. Featured largely in variety shows and from what I recall, the original “Charlie’s Angels”. I had sailor themed one, because I was a kid and apparently dressing up your children in faux military never goes out of style.

But let’s interfere with fashion nostalgia with some practical advice. Unless you feel like getting mostly naked whenever you have to visit the ladies room, avoid the jumpsuit.

I just thought of a particularly cruel fashion design; the maternity jumpsuit. I really hope no one has made one, but if it exists, you know it was designed by a man.

If you find yourself in London…

and your feet hurt because you’ve miscalculated your choice of shoes, it’s time to take a break.

I’m sure my love of museum cafes have a lot to do with my love of museums in general. That being said, there’s a really nice one on the top floor of the National Portrait Gallery.

There’s a view. There are scones with clotted cream. And of course, there’s a nice hot pot of tea.

And it isn’t even that expensive if you pretend that pounds are actually dollars.