Fashion Victim

Posts have been a bit serious of late . . time to lighten up.
I sometimes wish I had a clue about fashion. I know what I like but being on the wrong side of a size 16, (don’t laugh, so was Marilyn Monroe) we’re hardly spoiled for choice unless a purple psychodelic tent dress and crympolene pants count as catwalk material.

My choice of dress is usually smartly sensible, straight leg pants or bootleg jeans, a sweater or tailored T-shirt and in this weather a 3 quarter jacket or suit. A little bit of lippy and something interesting poked through my ear lobes. If I want to be particularly groovy, I let my hair do it’s own thing and whack it up with a headband with little curly bits sticking out. That’s my band look . . . Janis Joplin would be proud me. I on the other hand am constantly contemplating shaving my head but I don’t know what scars lie beneath or whether those two bumpy bits at the back would look ugly.

So, I tuck the hair up in a french roll dress rather plainly and try to accessorise or add a bit of flair with bits and pieces. Very unsuccessfully I might add. My favourite attire is black, and blacker with a splash of colour so that I don’t look like a shop assistant or get mistaken for wait staff. I’m a fan of unusual earrings and my favourites are the odd couple, a sun in one ear and a moon in the other or my Santorini dinner plates, lovingly chosen by ClareBear whilst in Greece.

This morning it was cold, really crisp and edgey, so I decided to decorate a pond green sweater and pants with a nice knitted cream scarf. I looked like the michelin man only with all the curvy bits coming from the chin. I have a friend who can sling on a scarf, pack on a pashmina, hoik on a hat and she looks a million dollars. I try to tiddivate with a bit of silk or hand woven wool and I look like a bag lady. So, by 8:45am, I hava a plethora of Fendi silk, knitted scarves, various headbands and pashminas littering my bedroom floor to the point where I couldn’t see the carpet. From whence did all these damn things come? Some were inherited, some bought for me, some Clare’s, some knitted by the GroovyGranny . . . not one, looked right on me. I gave up.

I am resigned to the fact that my favourite items of clothing are without doubt my scruffy knitted hoodie that makes me look like a medieval peasant and my black trakky daks combined with the comfy fairaisle slipper socks DrummerBoy bought me for mother’s day or my bigger than big, white velour dressing gown that looks like I pinched it from a five star hotel but actually I spared no expense and purchased the thing.

Thank goodness bloggers are blind and my friends don’t see me in my comfies too often. At least I look better than the MerryWidow who was wearing her 92 year old mother’s maroon chenille dressing gown last time I dropped by!

Maybe it’s time to focus on shoes and handbags but I love my little leather back-pack and my sensible shoes . . .