I’m Miss World. I’m not anymore, actually, but I used to be. So many of us used to be, circa 1994, in our lacy slip dresses, torn fishnets or cut-off army shorts. It only takes one verse of a Hole, Bikini Kill or Veruca Salt song to transport me back to that time, that age, those clothes, with that mix of angst, anger and joyous female rebellion. What are we now that we’ve left the clothes that defined those times behind us – Miss Dull, or worse, Miss Mature? It doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Grunge was the last time I felt at ease in something fashionable. Not Vogue covergirl fashionable – the antithesis of that – but fashionable in its own niche way in suburban Australia. My…