I'd love to work in an office in Ireland. They're places where boys and girls dress up in their parents' clothes and play grown ups for six hours a day, before running away to be the children they really are. You'll see many and most such office monkeys in the wild, their shirts hanging out of their pants, trainers clashing with cheap black work suits, whilst bags of crisps and messy pints get passed around sticky pub tables. It's not all fun though. Ministers are going cap in hand to jittery multinationals. This could be the Cretaceous period for this species, after the asteroid hit. Now they're forced to do a perverse re-enactment of every bad western, where the employer shouts "Dance!" and the office monkeys have to dodge a hail of bullets.
Having done a little snooping around in a Dublin office last week, I copped the real reason for their imminent doom. They dress so badly, that sartorially more evolved cultures are pulling out of Ireland in disgust. I saw some humdingers: Footballers' haircuts on top of tight fitting suits last seen in Goodfellas and which have since infested the formal section of River Island. Girls turn up at 9am Monday to Friday like a cross between Flamingos and Sister Wendy, teetering in heels in no way meant for anyone but Ru Paul. It's no wonder that foreign bosses are confronted with a choice: invest in gift vouchers for H&M or pull out altogether. The cost of the former would simply bankrupt any firm on earth. Look at Dell: being American, investing in the dress-sense apocalypse in Dell's native Texas has practically bankrupted the company. Investing in threads for their Limerick plant would push them over the edge.
Clearly this is a critical moment in our economic history and needs must when the sling-back hits the fan. Having watched Law and Order, I'm clearly qualified to enforce a new regime. After all, there are fashion crimes so heinous, that they must be investigated by an elite group, the Fashion Victims Unit. These crimes go all the way to the top in our society. Just look at Mary Coughlan. She's as dainty as Jonah Lomu, as stylish as Jackie Healy-Rae. It was only a matter of time before people saw her fashionista status was simply an invention of hacks, shell shocked by back to back episodes of Sex and the City on DVD.
You can, however, help defeat this great threat to our society. Frog-march a shabby looking loved one into Massimo Dutti. Flights to Milan are cheap - why not book one for some lady who thinks trouser suits were meant for people other than Marlene Dietrich. Beat your husband the next time he wears a brown, diagonally checked shirt with a pink, striped tie.
This is your task. Our economy needs you. It's your patriotic duty! Dress to impress!
