The older I get, the less choice I require – or want for that matter. Too many options create anxiety and, in turn, weaken my ability to make sound decisions. It also gives me an awful case of brain freeze. Not pretty.
Ah, didums! Who’s a happy camper, then? Granted, that big aul grin has as much to do with finding a stoop on which to deposit my bottom as it does with my outfit choice. Although a much simpler execution of the first culottes look, it still abides by the same rules – simple colour scheme and playful proportions.
It’s a well-known fact that I’m partial to navy. Translate that truism into a pair of trusty trousers and watch me fan girl – hard. Exhibit A: I’ve been wearing these leather culottes for the guts of a year, so much so I’ve left a butt mark. I like to consider this ownership lest anyone get notions about ‘borrowing’ them. Try filling that crater, why don’t you! What can I say? I’m a territorial Taurean.
We all have a relationship with our clothing. Some of us have a sustained bond built over time; others – a carnal rip-em- off-in- the-changing- room style lust; then there are those who practice rigorous ascetic detachment – sartorial celibacy, if you will. Suffice to say, the degree to which we connect with what’s on the outside all boils down to what’s happening on the inside.