Faily Candy

Faithful LLFF readers will know that much of what I do is profoundly stupid. One previously undiscussed example is my habit of signing up for, and then regularly reading, email newsletters that do nothing except send me into a mild rage. The principle rage-inducing email newsletter is Daily Candy, which is less candy and more upper-middle-class, Notting Hill millionaires trying to keep their finger on the pulse between worrying about serving non-organic lamb koftas at their second baby’s Christening and jetting off to St. Moritz for a spa weekend.

But still I receive it, because once every six thousand days, they send me something that’s quite good. The other five thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine days, they send me something that has me gnashing my teeth and wanting to force glass shards into the eye sockets of everyone involved in its production.

Today’s really took the biscuit. Witness the opening sentence:

“No matter how much you’ve paid for it, how close it is to your house or how hot your spinning instructor, you rarely find the motivation to hit the gym.”

Don’t tell me about my gym motivation, biatch. You don’t know me. And actually, let’s look closer. A) You assume I have enough money for a gym membership. An expensive gym membership. Growl. B) You assume I have a HOUSE. C) You assume I have a ‘spinning instructor’ – a hot one – and that his hotness might inspire me to go to his class, sweat heavily and be very bad at something in front of him. Right.

Breathe. Continue to sentence two:

“But we’ve got something that’ll put a spring in your step: Lucas Hugh, a new sportswear brand with all the comfort of your boyfriend’s baggy T-shirt and practicality of your sports bra — but with razor-sharp fashion styling.”

Oh, how wrong I was! You know me perfectly! The thing that will put a spring in my step, the very thing that is most likely to make me bounce down the street like I’ve just stepped out of the salon, is a NEW SPORTSWEAR BRAND. I’ll let the reference to my NON-EXISTENT BOYFRIEND slide, because you’re clearly so spot on with my desire for gym clothes that have ‘razor-sharp fashion styling’. Chuck away the anti-depressants, call off the dogs, I’ve found razor-sharp sportswear. THANK YOU. But wait! I desperately need more information! Bring on sentence three:

“Work it out catwalk style in a body-contouring leotard with subtle mesh inserts, hipster graphic-print leggings or colour-contrast darting (flattering on the hips).”

Ah. OK. If I were to compile a list of things I am not likely to exercise wearing, it would probably read something like this:

1. Nothing.
2. LEOTARD.

I mean. What complete maniac, what total deviant thinks that, as one jogs on a treadmill, the best outfit to wear is a long-sleeved swimming costume? Because I think they need to be shot. Unless the subtle-mesh inserts are, in fact, head-to-toe, Teflon-strength webbing panels that squeeze the wearer’s body into the exact size of Heidi Klum, I am not interested. Equally, let’s discuss ‘hipster’ leggings with ‘colour-contrast darting’. Let me tell you, you twunt of a fashion stylist, it’s going to take more than a bit of GCSE art training in complimentary colours to make my hips look good in a pair of leggings. Like liposuction. Or global blindness.

Sentence four:

“Futuristic details that bring function to form include headphone eyelets and strategically placed pockets for your BlackBerry or iPod.”

Erm. I don’t know what generation you’re from, fucktard, but where I live that’s not a futuristic detail, it’s a normal sportswear feature. What exciting touch are you going to flag up next? Holes in the fabric for your arms and head?

Sentence five:

“Glued-seam technology (as used by Olympian Michael Phelps) will help you run like the wind, but we reckon what’ll really get you going is that the printed bodysuits, wet-look short shorts and blouson tops look just as good in the pub as they do on the treadmill.”

Stop. Right. There. Wet-look short shorts. Without question, these sound like the most revolting garment in the history of clothing. If I ever, EVER thought that wearing a pair was a good idea, you can be certain that I would be on a lot of hallucinogenic drugs and should be popped into The Priory for a long spell of introspection. The imagined sight of me running in a pair brought tears of self-pity to my eyes. Then there’s the idea that it’s the technology behind the seams that has been holding me back all these years – if only they’d been glued, not sewn, I’d be bounding round the marathon in under three hours. Well at last I know. And blouson tops and printed bodysuits – I’m quite sure I would look splendid wearing them in the pub – I’ll give that a try. How much did you say this stuff was?

Sentence six:

“Available online at www.lucashugh.com, £60-£280.”

Dear Lucas Hugh and the writers of Daily Candy,
You make me sick. Stay away from my life forever.
Yours,
Lost Looking For Fish