First up – sorry for shortage of new fashion victims. The fashion victims of Shoreditch are still there but our fuzzy photography specialist ‘admin’ is in quarantine cos he’s on a swine flu ‘chain’. Yep, dead straight – its a big skive.

Release the victims

I spotted these two guys on the way to work this morning & am just loving their quirky retro power-dress combo.

If I’d spotted them anywhere else I’d assume its fancy dress, but this is a cold Tuesday morning in Shoreditch. They’re probably on the way to meet the bank manager to seek funding to open up yet another vintage shop, cos we really need one of those.

Bonus points for their little queefs pointing out from under their jauntily sat hats, their manbags and moustaches. Did I mention the short suits? We need to invent a scoring system, cos this shit would win.

Mmmm delish fashion sense at work here…. If you look closer at the lovely pink dress you can see that there are ickle stars on it – ahhhh everyone.

Why oh why she thought that this was a good look is beyond me – waitress chic maybe? Was it a bet?

This one must also deserve the ‘natty socks’ tag.

Of course the true pinnacle of vintage fashion is to look like you’re an armenian refugee. Hat’s off to this guy for living the dream. Outstanding contribution by his ‘woman’ too – the deliberate laddering of the tights adding that touch of authenticity that only the truly scraggy East London fashionistas can achieve.

Rolled up tight jeans – Check
‘Dad’ cardigan – Check
Shoulder bags – Check

I think we can all agree, a pair of prime Shoreditch fashion victims caught in their natural habitat.

Apologies for the fuzziness of this one. Had to revert to the mobile camera which was caked with pocket fluff.

It was too good to miss the colour combination that beggars belief, notice that the rest of the insane combo makes the terry towelling hoody look positively sane. The socks (if thats what they are) alone would be deserving of a place in the London Fashion Victim hall of fame though.

Every time I look at this picture trying to come up with witty, insightful (*cough* juvenile *cough*) comments it strikes me dumb with its very wrongness. Unequivocal proof that ‘you can’t go wrong with vintage clothes’ is bullcrap. Viv la vintage!

A lot of people crave the acceptance of the uber-cool Shoreditch set. So much so that they go to extremes to create the coveted look.

Some guys just aren’t content with carrying a day-glo man bag, rolling their skinny jeans up to show some schmexy ankle, and making sure the jeans are so tight and slung so low that their arse crack is basically free range.

This guy has gone one step further and tried to literally blend in with the other twats and their surroundings. He has dyed his hair tree-green, donned a shameful royal blue shell-suit jacket, the same colour as the car he is stood in front of, and is now basically invisible.

Thanks to Lisa for the photo!

what the ?!?!

I think the title says about all I can muster for these two… Reminds me of those early 80′s low budget children programs where presenter’s dressed in bright clothes and acted insane, because thats what kiddies wanted and was nothing to do with the fevered, acid fuelled ramblings of the producers. Remember chock-a-block? I rest my case.

I had to work for this one. Unfortunately he was too wily for me and I only captured the shoes/socks and jacket combo whilst missing out on the lovely bright orange necktie.

Nevertheless an atypical shoreditch twattite – also overhead were his critiques on fashion as I stalked followed him down the street. Obviously it’s the height of fashion to wear trousers that terminate a country mile above the ankle to show off your natty sockage. I just can’t fathom out the ‘dad’ shoes though. Just for your delectation here’s a tasty close-up.

Twats adopt emergency measures as recession hits the coolest bits of Shoreditch this week.

These two Shoreditch ladeez made sure they looked spiffing by wearing their Shoreditch twat staples, the unnecessary scarf, oversized bags and cheap plimsolls, while walking past RBS on Bishopsgate, despite the fact that recession cutbacks have forced them to eschew clothing. They must have had to spend their last pennies on crap 80s-revival electronica music or leg warmers.

Unfortunately for the banker behind them, he is too busy using his Wankberry – probably to text people how great he is because he still has his job – and misses two naked chicks walking past.

Some serious stealth photography was required for this one (hence the slight blurriness) on the circle line platform at Liverpool St station. 

I mused that this just might be an offspring of Russell Brand and well, Russell Brand (I’m pretty sure he loves only himself… and is inbred). Or perhaps he’s just an insufferable twat, in any case he was nectar for my newly acquired equipment for capturing souls (or ‘camera’ if you will). 

He entertained the tube carriage of tired, irritated commuters by talking very loudly about utter drivel to his posh friend so that everyone would overhear how great he was, grooming his carefully crafted hair often and evidently thinking he was the bee’s knee’s…. I salute you king of the bouffants (or should that be buffoons) so far.

With matching black leg-warmers, gloves, scarf and peaked beanie you’ve got to wonder why this guy doesn’t go all out and wear a coat. His voluminous white fro no doubt keeps him warm on those lonely winter nights.

Leg warmer boy

Braces are the new belts.