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Tuesday, 25 November 2014

TRY THIS - I Can't Hear Your F**king Style


I find swearing in public a lot like red lipstick on your teeth. It trumps the thoughtful vibe of your cool, collected sartorial ensemble. Curse in a crowd and you're no longer that woman in the perfect pattern-clashing outfit with shiny hair and ballerina-esque posture. You're just the gal with the rotten potty mouth. Worse yet, for me, crowd swearing is as unimaginative as a twin-set & pearls. Don't get me wrong, I love f**king expletives. Cursing can be therapeutic and has its place, but its constant overuse in public has sadly dumbed it down, left it weak, w**ky and wanting. Weaving my way through a crowd recently I was struck by the loud, dull clunkers falling from people's lips -- "...my G*d d**n mum..." "...his suit was s**t..." "...she f**king said..." I love the city's sound track and real-life refrains but street-side swearing, like a plastic carrier bag, is common, unnecessary and impotent. Bad language should be like gorgeous silk satin panties, smooth and naughty, your secret, shared with only a select few. Whether whispered with punch or hissed through gritted teeth, swearing should almost always be an exclusive, artful affair. Don't curse creative cursing to a mass grave. Properly privatize your profanity. 

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