Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Ok, so I know I’ve not painted the best portrait of Father Dearest in the past, having described his sense of style as remarkably similar to a 14th century Pagan or something to that extent, but what can I say…he’s obviously been paying attention in recent months. I had a phone call from him yesterday morning to say that while on his way to work he had passed a charity shop with the most interesting jacket in its window and that he had popped in and put it on hold for me. Now, when anyone, myself included, uses the word ‘interesting’ to describe an item of clothing it’s usually not in a positive light. I pushed it a little further, “what do you mean by interesting?”, I asked. “Well, its vintage Frank Usher, covered in gold and brown sequins, medium length sleeves, blah blah blah”. I had stopped listening at ‘Frank Usher’. To cut a long story short, I can reveal to you now avid readers, that I am now the proud owner of the most beautiful, exquisite, dashing jacket in the history of history.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Great Scott! By Joe! Zara, how you tease me so! Why is it that every store of yours I visit you flaunt the most perfect dress in front of me: so beautifully it sits perched on a hanger just waiting to be bought. Alas – it’s not meant to be, covered in feathers its design rewrites the fairytale and turns this swan into an ugly duckling. Perhaps I should buy it anyway and hang it on my wall in a frame so I can appreciate it as a work of art.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
T: Minus forty eight hundred hours
Mission: Project Hen Party
Objective: Find a dress
Notes: Oxford Street apparently is not the place to go.
Despite being Europe’s busiest shopping street, with an amazing 548 shops (I wikipedia’d that, obvs) and a worldwide reputation for being THE high-street shopping destination, period, you would think that finding a dress would be as easy as A, B, C.
Even a hop on the Piccadilly Line to Harrods and Harvey Nichols didn’t make much of a difference. In fact if anything, doing so made me confused. The dress I had in mind was black, made from material and be acceptable to wear in public. The shop windows were encouraging me to wear a dress made of clothes pegs, lengthen my legs so I’d appear as tall as the Eiffel Tower or construct an outfit made of hardbacks.