The only day on the calendar when wearing grotesquely enormous flowers and other assortments of 'art' on your head is deemed not only appropriate, but the way forward.
Those who know me may question my credentials for passing judgement (especially after a slew of unsolicited photographs of me recently surfaced on the interwebs*).
The Melbourne Cup confuses the shit out of me, much like I'm sure this fellow is confused by
a. the notion of acceptable sartorial decision making and
b. his lady friend's decision to wear a visual method of birth control on her head.
I also speculate the relationship he holds with his razor. His beard offends every fibre of my being.
When all sensible sartorial decisions are flung from the window, this propeller could quite literally take her places. (albeit, not likely anywhere heterosexual men are likely to frequent).
*I largely have Paul to thank after he circulated said images of me appearing more like a mental delinquent than a social butterfly, around our office. But on the plus side, at least I don't fall asleep standing up!)
If this picture wasn't enough to blow your eyeballs out of your sockets, some more hand-picked winners
Dear Kate, you are beautiful, but your gargoyle-inspired ass-hattery is ludicrous, and you are killing me inside.
Asshats for as far as the eye can see.
pass the peroxide, sista!
**DISCLAIMER: Even though I didn't partake directly in the Melbourne Cup festivities, I will not argue against the champagne breakfast and half day of work we were granted..