Boho Boo Hoo

29Oct09

Garance Doré: read this and weep. Malheureusement, il y a -aussi- des filles comme moi:

My sense of dress is a finely tuned instrument for the gauging of my level of social commitment. If I expect to interact with relevant others/strangers I tend to make some sort of effort. However if the others are limited to man in mailroom and boyfriend, I might easily slip into something more comfortable…

This morning I did not shower. I was not very enthusiastic about combing my hair. I did not give a damn about the coffee stains on my jeans, or the hole on my elbow. I just slipped into the most pyjamish things “in my wardrobe” (read: from the heap on the bedroom floor) and stumbled into work.

Which was fine, till three-thirty rolls around with a phonecall from the Better Man, “reminding me” of cocktail ballyhoo straight after work. (read: appraise me of for first time.)

A fashionista could no doubt pull off the disheveled look. But I never look casually tousled. Instead, to speak in fashion lingo – I channel gutter-nutter. My complete lack of glamour is not helped by any sort of lint. If I were Mary-Kate or Ashely, I’d be surrounded by a swarm of pigeons, not paparazzi. If I were Helena Christenssen on that long ago Isaak beach, my nose would be peeling and there’d be sand lodged in…places. For christ sake: I’d make a Grace Kelly get-up look like I were just about to put on the kettle for another cuppa.

My outfit would stand a better chance if I were, at least, wearing comfortable shoes. And by comfortable, I mean shoes that make my feet ache and my back burn, but that give that little bit of height needed for me to look down my nose at people. But instead of purple superhigh wedges or blue velvet stilettos, today I am wearing decidedly dodgy old Stan Smiths. Returning to the analogies: they scream locker-room, rather than whisper club-house.

Solution? Simple really. Sure I’ll meet the Better Man straight after work. After a short detour to the shops, courtesey of his bill. I am thinking it will take at least three inches to glam up my thrift-store self. And I am thinking, also, that a fur might be a valuable lesson – teaching him the economical benefits of not springing surprise interactions….



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