|See? She's so got edge.|
Bear with me. I had this epiphany whilst following a whippet thin girl on a lean silver racer. She had cropped platinum hair and neon clothing clearly chosen for the 80s clubbing reference rather than visibility. I started mentally formulating a blog post about this common bike tribe, a branch of the family tree related to east end boys on fixies, but had a blinding realisation. I've never seen a woman with proper boobs on a fixie. Or a single speed. Or even a racer.
I have a very precious friend. She is much cooler than me, and very slim, with short red hair. She used to live in New York and throws amazing margherita fuelled parties to celebrate mexican festivals I've never heard of. Can you guess what kind of bike she rides? A sleek red racer called Rudy.
I, on the other hand, ride a hybrid named Trusty becuase I need the speed with the distances I cover, but I have stuck a basket on the front and a pretty panier on the back because in my head I ride a Pashley. I have long hair and curves and like to cook and go for country walks and have my friends over for dinner. I enjoy my friend's Margherita fuelled parties but tend to drink gin and tonic, and I'd like to visit New York but probably not live there. I am, in Mad Men's memorable dichotomy, a Marilyn not a Jackie- or in a 21st century UK context; Nigella not Kate. I don't have a lot of edge. As well as just not suiting a racer personality wise, my figure means that from the front I'd look like a toffee apple. It's just not flattering. I need a frame with a bit of substance. My sleek figured friends look good on sleek sets of wheels, and just a bit overwhelmed by big bikes.
Wether it's women's natural instinct for accessorisation or truly destiny that guides us to steeds that suit us, I defy you to find many examples of opposite pairings.
Image by richardmasoner