It's because I've been in trackie dacks for three days and so desperately needed a shot of colour and glam. Not sure it worked. My legs are too white, hairy and blotchy so I wore it with cut off jeans and my feet hurt so silver sandals were the shoe of choice.
Hmm. Not sure it did the frock justice, and I couldn't be fagged matching my handbag to it.
Nonetheless, it had to be done. I had to skim around a snatch of glamour, even for a trip to Woolworths.
But the thing about this dress is this: I bought it because I think it's absolutely gorgeous. But I don't like it. That's right. I think it's absolutely stunning but I don't really like it much. Perhaps because it's so not me. It's not my colour, my style, my shape, my pattern, my look. It's made for someone far trendier and skinnier than me.
Trinny and Susannah would be horrified.
But I had to own it, silly woman that I am. And I never wear it. Maybe it will become my grocery shopping dress.
Marc Jacobs would be horrified.
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