This post will probably be a direct apology for the fact that nothing is going on (apart from the Queen’s 90th Birthday) other than:
- The weather currently has more twists than the doo-hickey that spun Dorothy to Oz.
- I’m waiting to start work and doing some appropriate shopping and hating it.
- I really need to give up dessert and start running/working out again for Wedding Season proper, set to occur post-Ramadan. No more existential angst whilst draped on sexy distressed leather sofas in cafés, consoling oneself with friends and cake.
(It’s actually a very French attitude, n’est-ce-pas? Mange le brioche!)
Non, I am going to be sportif once more, faire du jogging, etc.
So because the weather is so unpredictable (I am an adept of the ancient dance of put out the laundry, run to save it from rain, put it out again) I’ve been trying to dress appropriately for the yo-yo weather.
This has failed of course, but on good days I tend to go a bit boho and mix the Asian (all the paisley, satin and colour) side of my wardrobe with the Office Separates side of my wardrobe. Then grab some statement jewellery. I am a bit of a bijoux but it’s all costume though, fine jewellery makes me horribly nervous:
Then I carry SPF like it’s a talisman against the Evil Eye. Lately there’s been a bit of the Parisienne’s love affair with navy blue on my mind. Eventually I will embrace the joy of cobalt, and from there all the colours of summer, but don’t rush me.
‘Transition’ to Brits basically means the acknowledgement of two states with a lot of seemingly bad fashion choices in between. The first, Winter, is characterised thus: no one talks to anyone else, everyone is miserable they’re all taking care not to step in puddles, everyone LIVES in their coat and friends affectionately enquire – “Hello? Are you inside that clothing-mummy?”
The second state is daring denuding of one’s tights, perhaps some light outerwear and a very daring touting of a Breton stripe. Then the sudden realisation that everyone is suddenly smiling, the sky is blue, and you’re actually checking out everyone else’s feet in an array of open shoes. (For the pedicure, I don’t have a fetish.) Then you’re flabbergasted by how attractive everyone is: “Aww, you look all cute and fresh and about three notches more desirable just because it’s sunny.”
You thought Johnny from Accounts was a four? He’s CLEARLY a seven. And yes, I have heat-stroke, but who cares? It’s Casual Friday and we’re eating ice-cream. In the office – because I get sunburnt while everyone else tans, yet I have more melanin in my skin. Life eh?!
I’m attempting to ride the wave of the happy medium.
~ Pola ~