Christ.

Yesterday, while innocently browsing the web, looking for anything (and I mean ANYTHING) to distract me from paying attention to the fact that my wardrobe is currently masquerading as a dump site, I came across these images from Vivienne Westwood’s latest menswear collection. It could only be described as a sartorial car crash. And I think that may be a little too kind, to be honest.

The words Factory, Paint, Explosion, and Fabric spring to mind to say the least.

The very least.

Images from the train wreck below, make up your own mind...

I really didn’t see this one coming. I mean, I know La Westwood is a bit “different” as the Mothership would say, but COME ON. Does anyone really want their man to look like Little Boy Blue (had he fallen under a bucket of bleach, that is)/ a ventriloquist's dummy come to life, I wonder?

This one has a touch of the Bibi Baskin, circa 1993 about it, no?...Much love for the Beebster but sleeping with her tribute act is a little too far for me, I'm afraid.

Would you be ok with your man candy rocking up in this little number? Because if you are honey, I suggest you get out of the relationship now. Before you come home and find him cavorting about in those nasty red knicks he got you “for the laugh” last Christmas. Trust me on this; it’ll save time and the cost of 10 gallons of red wine plus your body weight in chocolate later on down the line.

Once I had recovered from the initial visual assault, I realised that maybe Vivienne is on to something here though. I stand firm in my belief that encountering one of these creations on any man-shaped object may be the most effective form of contraception known to humankind. I see your pills, coils and implants and raise you toupees, bad spray tans and drop-crotch chequered pants, Scientists of the World!

(all images from WWD)