A MODERN OUTCAST
PEOPLE STARED, people sniggered and even a cat turned to look as I walked down Ponsonby Road. I felt as conspicuous as an orchid in a spud patch.
You see, a complaint was put in The Herald under the column “Letters to the Editor”—Bold Brazen Widgie by “Eye Attracted”. It said that a lass who likes to wear widgie clothes is regarded as an outcast by the public just because of the cut of her suit and her hair, quite regardless of her conduct.
Well, I've decided to imagine how true that is for myself as an inexperienced widgie.
First came a D.A. haircut costing 7/6d, at “Kays” in Karangahape Road, followed by the gay clashing apparel of black slacks, fitted with a 4in width leather belt, also a tight fitting topper in a brightly coloured pattern. Shoes were of “Rock 'n Roll” style which fitted to perfection. The hairdresser classed me as real cool, but this is what followed:
I walked out into the street once more feeling like a square. I stood out amongst a crowd lik a poor man's Liberace.
A woman with a baby in a pram stared— I stared back. Have you ever thought how ridiculous a starer is?
Two boys teetering on inch thick crepe soled shoes looked at me and shricked “Dig Her”.
A Pommy levelled a camera and drawled “Hold it, baby!”
Normally a meek lass I felt like an oppressed minority. I really had an unaccustomed urge to bust someone on the nose. Instead I bought a “Truth” at the Family Naval Hotel corner to hide behind at the “All Nite” in Pitt Street.
Here I found three empty chairs at my table but no-one sat down. Several people with trays paused, then, with a sideways look at me moved away. I then got the impression that they expected me to run amuck with the butter knife.
Leaving I boarded a trolley bus below the St John's stop (St Helens Hospital) and to my amazement the old hag I sat next to rose at once, muttered “Excuse me” and moved to another vaca seat.
Right then I felt like the loneliest lass [ unclear: ] Auckland. By changing my clothes I was an out cast.
When I stopped to window shop a police woman kept her eye on me. When I sat in a park driveway a ladylike woman who sat on a nearby seat
shot to her feet and completely vanished.
In the evening I went to the Maori Centre in a tight fitted skirt with sleeveless blouse and my day rock 'n roll shoes. Here I was told to watch my behaviour. But inside I found the watching was being done for me by a bent-nosed character in a shapeless blue dress. When I sat down everyone glared my way.
I had come in for an innocent dance. But because of the cut of my clothes I was feel like a criminal at large.
Once a handsome lad gave me a ral snake look and muttered “I don't want
Throughout the day I had been well- [ unclear: ] and polite. Yet, because of the cut of my I had been derided or avoided.
Is it fair to regard every lass who widgie apparel as an anti-social no good