Filf

One of those long evenings Kohn was sitting on the low forecourt wall of a pub in Golders Green, sipping with caution at a liter of Stella Artois. He wore shades in the twilight. The round, white-enameled table where the others sat was jammed against the wall, enabling him to lean gently on the shoulder of his current girlfriend, Annie. Like most of the girls around (that was where the shades came in, for covert appraisals) she was wearing a skin-tight catsuit that covered everything up to her chin, including each finger and toe. The gauzy, floaty shift which covered it somehow made its contours no less detailed or revealing. As one of his older workmates had remarked appreciatively when the fashion had first drifted down the street, it was filf, pure filf.
From 'The Star Faction' by Ken Macleod

Filf he muttered appreciatively, pure filf.