THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES
by Tom Lyford
The Fifties did seem nifty and
the Sexy Sixties felt so important
but the Substance Seventies…?
They took us for a ride like some
twisted con-artist tailor hawking a
mod line of emperor’s new clothing…
and to us, the vulnerable village people
peer-pressurable, born-too-late
wannabe-hippies, wannabe bejesus
Bee Gees struttin’ our stuff and
stayin’ alive… stayin’ alive…
with our David Crosby walrus
moustaches… our mutton-chop,
fat-Elvis sideburns… our anomalous
caucasian afros… our wide, shoe-polish-
white disco belts threaded through the
even wider belt loops of our electric,
royal blue, polyester, leisure-vest-suit’s
bell bottoms, us sporting paisley shirts
or ties, and clown-large cuffs and
collars— a uniform suitable for any
Starship Enterprise or yellow submarine
yellow submarine…
yellow submarine…
hardly the Beau Brummels we imagined--
more the Gene Shalits
of fashion…
by Tom Lyford
The Fifties did seem nifty and
the Sexy Sixties felt so important
but the Substance Seventies…?
They took us for a ride like some
twisted con-artist tailor hawking a
mod line of emperor’s new clothing…
and to us, the vulnerable village people
peer-pressurable, born-too-late
wannabe-hippies, wannabe bejesus
Bee Gees struttin’ our stuff and
stayin’ alive… stayin’ alive…
with our David Crosby walrus
moustaches… our mutton-chop,
fat-Elvis sideburns… our anomalous
caucasian afros… our wide, shoe-polish-
white disco belts threaded through the
even wider belt loops of our electric,
royal blue, polyester, leisure-vest-suit’s
bell bottoms, us sporting paisley shirts
or ties, and clown-large cuffs and
collars— a uniform suitable for any
Starship Enterprise or yellow submarine
yellow submarine…
yellow submarine…
hardly the Beau Brummels we imagined--
more the Gene Shalits
of fashion…
