Sorry I cut and run last week. Turns out it was just the postman delivering a fruit knife. Panic over. Discretion is the better part of valour? It’s definitely the safest. I don’t like advertising what I am too much. I also hate to follow the crowd. So, as a result I love designing and making my own clothes. While my personal style does embrace goth quite readily – it’s mostly my love of dark colours (thanks to having a black school uniform), jewel colours (because I’m fair) and all thing lacy and frippery-ry (because of my fascination with historical fashion).
I had my ‘colours’ done one time. Turns out seasons mean nothing when you’re very blonde. I was drawn to all the spring colours but no. The consultant headed me towards one colour. And one colour only. Pink. What is this? Legally Blonde? I reassured her with all the calm I could muster that pink was not my favourite colour. She then back-tracked slightly and allowed me to have pastel colours. Pastels?! Pastels??! I don’t care how blonde I am, I am not dressing like Barbie for anybody! At which point she backed off and said, well, actually, any colour would suit me.
Result.
But, back to the postal intrigue… I had a near miss one day… I’d ordered a sewing dummy from ebay because I was fed up with trying items on and getting stuck with every single pin in it. So, get a dummy. Simple solution, yes?
No.
Well, yes.
Partly.
I ordered the thing, no problem. It arrived.
Almost no problem.
Now, while most items you get through the post are wrapped to within an inch of their life you feel you need to play ‘pass the parcel’ with them, this wasn’t. It wasn’t even in a box. It was simply packed in Brown paper and string. Form-fitting brown paper at that. Essentially the postman knocked on my door and handed me a torso. A headless, limbless body. To say he was uncomfortable would be a massive understatement.
So, in order to reinforce my individuality, my wardrobe consists of home-made/designed items, and finds from the local charity shops. My only complaint about the charity shops is that it would seem only skinny girls seem to turf stuff out on a regular basis. Mind you, I do manage to find some quite delicious designer finds every now and again. I do have some reservations about designer gear, and the type of items in sale.
I think they should scream (in a subtle, well-heeled way, of course) class, elegance and quality. Not pointlessness and expense for the sake of it.
It’s like these people who wear the t-shirt with the designer logo on the front – what’s the point? If you want to own something by a designer, go and buy something! Don’t walk around doing their advertising for them!
Yes… “Look at me! Look at me, lesser mortal! I can afford designer clothes!”
My take? ‘Giorgio, Issey, Jean-Paul – love the new collection, but if you want to use my boobs as an advertising space, YOU pay ME. And I charge by the square yard, by the way…’
Booyah, as they say.
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The Everyday Vampire 