Thursday, 25 February 2010

Perhaps I'm overthinking this it just me that feels the impulse to dress a certain way for a certain part of town?

A lunchtime walk in south Kensington (to gaze at the Chanel, Joseph and Coco de Mer windows in Draycott Street) left me feeling distinctly shabby in my purple H&M coat and stompy brown riding boots. Particularly when a very tall young marquis (probably) strode past in a modish black jacket, floppy ginger hair and, truly, a white cravat.

When I passed two old gents on the same street in impeccable tweed and dapper silk scarves, I felt that I had really let the side down.

And I feel altogether too dull if I don't make some sort of artfully indifferent, clever effort for certain bits of east London. Constructing a look is half the fun of it.

Don't get me started on what happens when I go abroad.

Perhaps I'm too self-conscious - but as I am not the type to cultivate a monochrome capsule wardrobe or breeze through life in one pair of ripped jeans and perfectly rumpled hair (I wish), I always feel as thought I ought to give some sort of nod to my intended surroundings...

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