By Adam Lusher
(Filed: 06/11/2005)
The blondes in skimpy tops and the boys in low-slung jeans throng towards the entrance. There is a long queue. Inside Manchester's Baby Grand nightclub there is warmth, "funkiness", champagne, celebrities.
But first they must navigate the doorman's hard stare. Frankly I pity them. Such mortals fear rejection. I, envious reader, am an untouchable fashion god in spanking new "high-top" Prada trainers, with well-cool red flash (and £170 price tag). And what Big Brother star, off-duty footballer or willowy blonde will not love my matching £80 Prada baseball cap?
The doorman stares at my shoes. Jealous, obviously. ''D'you like the Prada trainers?" I say, preparing to glide inside.
"Now you mention it," he says, "no". "There is a dress code," says the doorman. "No Prada.
"It's what it's associated with. It's the same everywhere in Manchester. Those trainers are scally wear - for scallies, chavs."
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Not in them shoes? Prada? Chavs, Mr Door Superviser, sir?
Full story in the Telegraph