I’m picturing you personified right now, sitting across from me, and my immediate image is bemusing and probably a little stereotypical. Sorry, we can blame the media bastards for that.
You are thin with shoulder length ombre’d hair that’s parted in the centre. Your outfit is effortlessly chic, obviously, and you’re sipping your macchiato while surreptitiously eyeing my outfit. Not in an admiring way. It’s Autumn so you’re hidden under one of those gorgeous floppy hats that I don’t know the name of and couldn’t pull off, myself. You look absolutely fabulous, even I know that.
I do know about you, by the way. I like pretty things as much as the next girl. I look at the magazines occasionally and admire the ‘fash-un’ girls on the streets of London, the ones that are your BFFs and you tell all your secrets to. I mean, you and I wouldn’t go for coffee together and you definitely wouldn’t waste your tips and inside info on me. It’s a fairly one way relationship. (I.e. You’re just another person I stalk on social media.)
I think you’re alright but I don’t love you because try as I might, I cannot understand you, keep up with you or afford you. You’re moving a little too fast for me and it definitely isn’t cheap to hang out with you. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t walk the streets in crocs and cargo pants. I like to look good and I even own a few items you would approve of. My best friend even thinks I’m super cool, but it’s part of her job role. So, there you go.
I just like to be comfortable… Which is what brought on the awkward track pants and hoodie phase a few years ago, that and my total lack of pride. Anyway that was before I realised that you can be comfortable AND look nice. Revelation of the century! But heels = no way. I wore them for my birthday last weekend and lasted the whole night (wooo), but those cute little boots probably won’t see the light until this time next year. The pain just isn’t worth the sexy calves and height. Plus I have bunions which you have probably never heard of, you lucky thing. Google them.
The problem is, dear Fashion, that you’re illusive to me and totally unattainable. I can generally tell what looks good, but when it comes to catwalk fashion I am 100 per cent lost. No one would ever wear half of that stuff on the street so what is the point? I’m into what I can wear day-to-day, anything else is just excess. I’m like a practical mother. Without the babies.
I don’t have the time or interest to spend hours trawling through markets, malls, websites, blogs and charity stores. So I will stick with the clothes that accentuate my ‘womanly waist’ and get on with it. I like what I like, that’s as far as it goes. If I happen to like anything ‘in trend’ then yay! We can wave at each other in the street and you can give me a nod of approval, kind of like the end scene in The Devil Wears Prada. I’d like that.
Pssttt – Do you like fashion or do you not quite get it either? Let me know I’m not alone in the comments!