don’t look back in anger …at the hanger

There’s no denying that I adore the ~~filthy rotten expensive~~ finer things in life. I mean, the ‘luxe’ isn’t there just for alliteration.

With fashion I’m no different and given half the chance/J’s credit card I’d hoover Harrods Shoe Heaven quicker than he hoovered last night’s vongole. But where’s the fun in that… I chant to myself unconvincingly.

You see when it’s handed (hoovered up) on a plate it becomes, well less of a treat. And I like a treat. So with this in mind I’m spending less, creating less mess, my floordrobe is positively bare.

Bear with this story’s just getting good.

There’s one thing I’ve been pining for ever since *mock-tober – a hangover from September when I overdosed on vogue street style but looked more vagrant street kid – and that thing is an oversized, slightly beaten parka.. A 90’s rework of a Liam Gallagher-esque classic is how I’ve pitched it to J. Minus the orange piping.

But in a familiar, slightly annoying twist, the fashion foremost have inadvertently plonked my perfectly imperfect parka on a pedestal. McQueen, Madewell, Mr and Mrs Italy you name it they’re all fanning the flames for my Oasis tribute act. And that can mean only one thing. My parka plan is looking a little more pricey.

Do you see the problem?

Course I can play the game, I know the parka’s not an essential piece of kit (sorry Liam) and let’s be honest, my insta-feed’s no greener than J’s vongole. This is just one of those times when I concede that it’s best to do as my favourite glossy would like it and ‘save’ not ‘splurge’.

Top marks Topshop, I’m in the band.

L x