Now, the home secretary's private porn collection really leaves me stone dead unaroused ("Jaqui Smith on a cold day" is just as effective as "Margaret Thatcher on a cold day" in toning down the effects of erotic excitation); however, I had a similar sense of flabbergastedness (flabbergastion?) as Peter Ryley when I read this here fashion jeremiad in today's Guardian.
The private quandary of disturbing dimensions around which the article revolves:
Wearing hijab is about more than throwing on a headscarf. It means committing to a broader dress code - for me clothing needs to cover everything but the hands and face, and be loose enough to hide my body shape. Since I like to shop on the high street, that's a bit of a tall order. Few among Topshop, H&M, Dorothy Perkins, Zara and Miss Selfridge can meet my needs in one or two garments. Fashions come and go, but I am committed to a life of layering.I guess you can reproach Western high street fashion for a lot of things: collective tastelessness, non-sustainability, exploitation. But not catering to an individual shopper's personal religious convictions?
I mean let's face it: you don't order hosts in McDonald's, do you, and then complain when all they offer you is a McMuffin?