If that advice falls on deaf ears, it's likely to be because it jars with the spirit of excess that keeps glam alive to this day.
Why own one pair of gold, platform-soled snakeskin boots when you can own three?But to say the 1971 album by the Marc Bolan-led four-piece is both glam rock's founding document and its finest moment is no exaggeration.
Roxy Music, New York Dolls, Mott The Hoople and David Bowie would all owe a debt to its nonchalant style, a manifestation of every core value encompassed in rock's most colourful form.
Each would produce stunning works of their own but none would embody glam's flamboyant life force more convincingly than Bolan.
It's unlikely Bolan could have worn glam rock's bejewelled crown had he not first worn the tights and tunic of a hippie jester.
As one half of Tyrannosaurus Rex, he'd established himself as a fey fantasist, a tricky little folk minstrel who couldn't quite shake his interest in the beefier sounds of Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran.
By the time Electric Warrior was released, Bolan had mastered the art of transition.
He now had a vehicle for his mystifyingly dreamy lyrics that gave them a raw, risky, sexually charged edge, and a visual image that encouraged the inner extrovert in everyone.
And yet, musically the album is anything but excessive.
At the heart of each track is a solid riff, be it in the shuffling electric boogie of Mambo Sun, Jeepster and Bang a Gong (Get It On) or the simple acoustic sway of Cosmic Dancer and Planet Queen.
Tony Visconti's warm, intimate production has the listener reclining on a bed of velvet cushions, soaking up the ambience, never overpowered by volume or violence.
The effect is utterly intoxicating.
