There are 19 days left in January. I know because I counted…and I had to count twice through my squinted, tired eyes. Another 19 outfits to somehow cobble together from odds and sods. Safe to say I’m waning.
Plus, I have to apologise for the photos today – they’re a little grainy (but they look how I feel so I suppose they’re appropriate). My official photographer is on a business trip!
Today, I was absolutely desperate for a casual day. I just wanted to throw on a pair of jeans and go…but after tipping the entire contents of both my wardrobes (yes, I have two) onto my misfit body and then (in a rage) onto the floor, I had to relent. Once again, I submit. I just don’t do jeans. I can’t actually fathom how jeans became such a fashion staple – they’re impossible to wear unless you’ve got golf clubs for legs and the average size of women in Britain is a 16. It’s infuriating. Remember, this garment is the origin of the phrase ‘muffin top’. Why would we befriend such an obvious enemy?
This Phase Eight cardigan has been squashed into the orphaned corner of my wardrobe since I was a size 10. I don’t even remember when that was…it seems unfeasible now that I ever was! I do remember buying it…at a time when I thought I was a bit of a kooky dresser but instead of adding a touch of quirk to my wardrobe it just ended up looking a bit frumpy with everything I paired it with. Sometimes I’d look at it adoringly but that’s as close as it got to fulfilling its sartorial purpose.
The blouse is from Hobbs…again. It’s one of the lucky ones – sometimes, it actually gets called up for duty but I’ve never been satisfied with the way it fits. It’s one of those fashionably short things that does absolutely nothing for the biscuit box (aka my mum-tum). Another example of fashion designing for the fortunate few. Why, when so many of us are wearing muffin-top jeans already, would we want a cropped blouse to add to the horror?
To prove I’m not being melodramatic (excepting the fact that this whole 30-day blogathon is dabbling more than a little bit in that genre), I feel the need to show you what it looks like without the previously-dowdy-but-possibly-now-cool cardi. Not bad but I do resemble that frumpy bosom-nudging battleaxe Les Dawson used to play. You know the one. It’s those damned giant apples yet again.
But maybe the cardigan has at last found its calling. I can’t tell whether the fairisle is expertly clashed with the shoe-print blouse or whether they just make a bizarre couple but at least the cardigan gives me back some shape. How do you like them apples?