Mark Jordan enjoys walking around his Welsh home town “got up like a Christmas tree” in vintage Vivienne Westwood bondage shirts and bright blue brothel creepers. “The other day, I was stopped by this young guy walking the dog, he was wide-eyed and said, ‘What is that you’re wearing?’” Jordan says. “His eyes were on sticks when I told him that some of this old punk gear is worth thousands.”
A teen of the late 1970s, punk was Jordan’s escape from growing up on a drab Merseyside council estate through an economic recession. It was a wild time, Jordan, now 61, recalls, though nothing like the handed-down caricatures of punk anarchy today. “It wasn’t all sitting in doorways drinking lager with a dog on a string,” he explains. “Johnny Rotten said, ‘Get off your arse!’ – don’t sit on it. Punk was always more about outrageousness and embracing life.”
