Helly Hansen

For the purpose of this review I shall share with you a little secret. Unlike my wiser friends who went though a goth/​geek/​hippy teenage phase I became a scally otherwise know as townie or a chav. I came from a family with parents as teachers, I went to a decent school and I was not in anyway a rebellious trouble causer. Unfortunately I was a wannabe scally (the kind who only take on the dress code) and there was no excuse for it.
Starting from the feet upwards I would wear: brightly coloured Nike trainers with the laces tucked in (not tied), Adiddas trousers that had a poppers down the side meaning they could be popped open right to the top of the thigh, and on my top half… a Helly Hansen jacket. It was not just any Helly Hansen jacket oh no, it was the one I pleaded with my parents to get me for months. It was a puffer coat that was silver with Helly Hansen emblazoned on my chest. To make things worse I had my hair scrapped back with no bumps and not even a strand loose into a tight ponytail where ⁵⁄₆ bobbles sat plonked on the top of my head.
As Helly Hansen profited from my teenage misfortune I can only give it one star and hope it stays in the Arndale so I am not reminded of how pathetic and cringe worthy I used to be. It was a learning curve… a cruel learning curve.

Remember Helly Hanson?!
It made a bid for school yard superstardom back in 1995 when mountaineering jackets that cost more some small cars were all the teenage rage.
What the hell were we all thinking?!
When is looking like a cross between Fred fucking Dibnah and Captain Oates ever cool?
I’m going out of the Arndale– I may be some time.