I’m turning a corner. I’ve shocked myself. Normally an advocate of the theory ‘no pain, no gain’, often sacrificing the temperature of my toes with inappropriate shoes or my intestines with really tight tights, I’m finally dressing with some sense. I ever so sweetly allowed my boyfriend to buy me some delicious brogues on a recent shopping trip to Leeds, and upon proudly trotting into the Mothership’s office was met by ‘ooh, what nice sensible shoes!’ Oh? Sensible? Really?
The persistent flurries of snow have ushered in a daily wardrobe relying heavily on my ability to layer and pull off a good hat. Vests precede any shirts, sweaters or dresses and, more often than not, I’m wearing two pairs of socks. Very woolly socks. Yet while scampering about in the snow, on my way to/from train stations in a variety of cities, I still manage to cling – through angora gloves – onto some semblance of style.
During cheeky cold snaps such as this, I find people tend to either ignore their chattering teeth and dress like it’s August, or don their ski suit and, while polishing their crampons, decide that fashion can do one. Boots with a good tread, yes. Waterproof trousers, no. (Unless you have Essence of Labrador gushing through your veins, and often feel compelled to launch yourself on the floor, trousers which are water repellent are completely inappropriate for the commute to work. In your Vauxhall Astra.)
Yes, the roads are abysmal and the rail network severely disrupted (oh really, I hadn’t noticed, it seems exactly the same to me…) but let’s not let the whole world come crashing down around our ears. Unless a blizzard has cut contact between you, your common sense and wardrobe dress like a rational, fashionable human being. Please.