So this is the Youtube clip that has everyone talking, and I have to confess I don’t mind it as much as some. Nothing gets a Saturday morning off to a good start like spotting a really cracking Walk of Shame. Of course, I don’t let on. In the same way that it’s considered civil to ignore toddlers mid-tantrum or someone vomiting on the tube, I never allow a smirk to cross my face when I see someone scurrying home on a chilly morning in a gold glitter dress or a ragged tux, makeup streaked, heels scuffed, hands shaking slightly with the DTs. I just bite the side of my mouth and do that thing where you avert your eyes until they are right next to you then treat yourself to a really good look just as they pass. All with a completely expressionless face.
But inside I am thrilled. It’s a bit like witnessing time travel – seeing someone with their head still firmly in Friday night hedonism but their body cruelly shoved into the bustle and smuggery of pre-9am Saturday morning. And I love the look on their face, so dignified, so faux-nonchalant. Also, I’ve never done a proper walk of shame myself. Mainly because I just don’t have the stamina, or the wardrobe. So there’s a certain admiration there, too.
The best example I’ve seen in recent times was when I was in the midst of nesting, and I stormed out the front door on a cot-buying mission to IKEA (we went for the budget Sniglar which worked out well as he’s barely in it; to his way of thinking he shares his bed with us). It was a bright Sunday morning, and there, sitting on the front wall, was a human.
When I went up to him I saw that although he was upright he was far from conscious. I kind of poked him, to make sure he hadn’t died, and that’s when he woke up and I saw that he was completely and utterly off his head. He was mute, for a start, and had pupils like black holes, but as he looked at me I saw cross his face a sort of blankness followed by confusion, a flicker of understanding and then a distinct, slow-motion leer that conveyed something along the lines of – oh, I’ve pulled.
He followed me to the car and made to get in – seeming not to register that I was rather obviously with child – and I was so addled by maternal instincts and simultaneously baffled by the situation that I was quite happy to drop him home. It was only when my partner came out, registered the situation and efficiently shooed him away (very firm boundaries, you see) that he realised that he was going home alone, and commenced his very own Walk of Shame, which he wasn’t the slightest bit ashamed of.
It’s a misnomer, really. There’s nothing shameful about it; if anything you should be proud of your endurance and happy to be providing a bit of free entertainment. A community service, practically, and – a bit like Tony Abbott – part of the rich tapestry of life.
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I love this advert, so funny! We have all been there (well me and my mates anyway in and around London), and I always thought it was the longer the walk, the better the night you had! I always take a decent length coat with me, just in case.