The shorts and Brixton
The sun is out and I my precious am a sun worshipper. This means a lot of different things to everyone. Some see it as an opportunity to sit in parks in bikinis. But no not for me. Sun screams sundresses and shorts whilst I shop and lunch. Yes I still think that shorts are an option despite evidence to the contrary. And why shouldn’t I? If they fit then I should be allowed to wear whatever I like right?
My problem is that I don’t believe in those awful preppy shorts that come down to your knees. For me it’s the shorts that cup your butt and that’s about it. I’m blind to any other type of shorts.
So yesterday was a hot day and I thought, yes finally I will be able to wear my all in one shorts suit that had been begging for a trip outside of the wardrobe. And I did. Not wanting to be scandalous I paired it with flats. I was only popping up to the Bluebird Chelsea for lunch.
And this is where I feel that life is unfair if you are fuller figured. I’m not fat I just have 
curves. Yet I saw young girls with dresses and shorter shorts (how young does cellulite start by the way? Poor lass) than mine walking around without raising looks. But no, I drew the attention of an Asian mini cab driver who curb crawled along side until I stopped, lifted up my sunglasses and glared at him. He shrugged and drove off. I had lunch and made it back with just a couple of beeps along the Chelsea Embankment. I don’t look at men on the street. I keep my eyes straight ahead. Maybe this is why I resent straight girls. They can wear anything, anywhere without harassment. They can also shop without trying things on. Darn them!
Then I had to head into Brixton and realised that even I in my ‘take me as I am’ mood was not about to risk this. Why? Because Brixton has become the place where you go to be harassed by those who are on day release from I don’t know where. The worst part I call KFC Junction. That’s the corner leading to Loughborough Junction. I hate that place.
It saddens me that I have to think about what I wear when going into different parts of London. Surely all areas are the same? But no, a weekly Brixton visit has taught me that best you wear trainers and a hard stare to run the gauntlet from the station. Those ones don’t mess. Everyone is a target. Shorts would just make them assume you liked it.
I love the sun. I love to feel its heat kiss me all over. I’m really not trying to pick up a random driver who is bored enough to stop. But now we women are made to dress down in case we incite or provoke the actions of some idiots who feel that bare flesh is an invitation? I still remember the Oxford street butt grab incident. Most women don’t dress for men. We dress for ourselves and other women. So guys please stop.
And so my shorts were put away for another day. Maybe I will wear them this weekend as I attempt to shop in town…we should be able to wear what we like, right? Yes my precious just not in Brixton.
Oh wait, the sun is out again, I may try them in Fulham today. Happy sun worshipping!
© Chelsea Black
