I have never been a dedicated follower of fashion,

the committed hunter of trends or the seeker of the inner circle.

I couldn’t care less for style unless it’s of my own making

and the latest thing, the craze of Dutch Tulip, just passes me by.

 

I love my team but won’t buy into the ethos that sits there now,

I loved them when were so bad we were great and being against type

When others around me supported the local three teams,

and then later the likes of the team from Salford, Arsenal or the beautiful

team from by the River Mersey.

 

I like films that others don’t, I liked music at school which others turned

their noses up at and I only ever allowed a girl to tell me

to cut my hair the once, a trend easily averted in the future.

I refuse to like a person because someone says I should

and I adore the underdog who sweats and declines to change

just to suit the crowd and the insanity of popular opinion.

 

What is vogue? It makes no sense to me, it is just surely a driving force

for the psychosis of envy, a jealous, unravelling

force that shrinks, contracts and reduces the

possibility and prospect of a prosperous

circle rather than

allowing it to

grow.

 

I will not be part of a clique, the voice of the one proclaiming love

is far more enjoyable

to take notice of than the tsunami of hate that abounds

when a million people push the bandwagon and its flogged horse

to the clifftop and then seems surprised, their eyebrows arching

in spectacular fashion, when the horse thinks

he’s had enough and commits suicide by throwing himself

on the mercy of the rocks below.

 

Give me the anti-clique anyday,

the position of the person with a fan club of one

the person with nothing to lose because they have said without

a biased thought in their head, that the inner circle should only

be what goes on between your heart,

conscious and deepest regret.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015