Piercings have expired as a statement, underwear has retreated to where it belongs below the belt, outrageous hairstyles are now admired, loaded-nappy jeans are worn only by dregs and young women are tucking in their wobbling belly jelly. What next to confront us?
Sure, we still have the skin graffiti, but tattoos, tragically for so many, are there forever, and already they're becoming more the stamp of a goose than a gangsta. And as I write in my column in The Herald today, we have the new fad of young drivers hanging a limp arm out the window as they cruise around town, but this is limited largely to the drivers of hot utes.
So we need something new to offend, to disgust, to defy the establishment, which is anyone over the age of 30. And, perhaps, under the age of 60, because I suspect that older people are seen now as powerless, as, even, hangers on!
Something to confront. Mutilation, as in razor wounds? Aboriginal-style welts? Amputated digits worn around the neck? Blouses with a single boob exposed? Nudity?