» Fashion! Turn to the left.   The Macaroni
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Fashion! Turn to the left. The Macaroni

Fashion! Turn to the left.   The Macaroni
Lookin Good


I don’t know what the youth of today are coming to, it’s a bloody disgrace, have you seen the way some of them dress?

More velvet and lace than an Italian dancing master and covered in make up like a tuppeny trollop, it makes me sick.

They call themselves “Macaronis” It’s the new thing apparently or perhaps I should I say its “a la mode”.

They’re all the same. They come home after going on the Grand Tour (which if you ask me is just an excuse to go whoring in a foreign country) spouting nonsense about “Classical Rome” and “Ancient Greece”, they think they are so well travelled.

"What the bloody hell do you think you look like?" “What the bloody hell do you think you look like?”



Some of the silly buggers even put on a                  stupid French accent.

You see them prancing around the town at night, people are laughing at them but they just don’t care.

I mean, it takes them all bloody day to get themselves ready to go out.

“There is indeed a kind of animal, neither male nor female, a thing of the neuter gender, lately started up among us. It is called a macaroni. It talks without meaning, it smiles without pleasantry, it eats without appetite, it rides without exercise, it wenches without passion” Horace Walpole

Coats so tight you’d think they couldn’t breathe, all the colours and patterns of the rainbow. Striped waistcoats, STRIPED, with huge buttons, there’s lace and ribbon all over the place.

Some of them have coloured string tied around the knees of their breeches and don’t get me started on the shoes. Tiny little pointy things with enormous buckles on them, they’re bigger than the bloody shoe for Christ’s sake.



The fashion for coloured knee-string breeches  proved to be short lived. The infamous Jack Rann ( or “Sixteen String Jack” as he was better known) was hung wearing a pair. Nothing stops a trend like an execution.


And the rubbish they carry around with them, silly little jewelled swords and fancy canes.


Two watches, who the hell needs two watches? Oh and a nosegay stuffed with sweet smelling flowers so as their delicate little nostrils don’t get offended. I’d offend them all right, with my fist.

But do you want to know what really gets my dander up? What really makes me want to stick them all on a boat and sail them to the Fever Islands?

It’s their bloody oversized wigs.

I ask you, who ever thought wearing a powdered wig over a foot tall was a good idea? I’m surprised they don’t topple over into the street. And to make matters worse they have a little hat perched on top, a “chapeau bras”. It’s so high up, the only way to take it off is with the tip of their stupid dress swords.

What amazes me is the success they have with women. They look like a bunch of Mollies but you should see how the strumpets swarm round them.



Should a gentleman wish to avail himself of male companionship he needs only to stroll along Bird Cage Walk. There he can introduce himself to fops and seafarers aplenty. Care should be taken however as sodomy is illegal and he could find himself beaten to death by a mob.


"Oi Ponce! Get a haircut" “Oi Ponce! Get a haircut”


If this is the state of young people today then this country is going to the dogs. A few years in the army would sort them out; send them to the colonies, see how fashionable they are staring at the business end of a musket.


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