Love the Clothes You're In.

"Hey you, leopard legs!" Aaargh....

  I made a wonky clothes purchase a few months back. Caught up in a misguided moment of buying at speed with the continual threat of  our 18 month old son Asa, pegging it out of the shop, I thought the idea of me in a pair of leopard print jeans wasn't too radical. I would dress them down. I would de-sexualise the animal-print skin-tight look by only ever wearing them with enormous, stay away from me style jumpers. The type that is always pre-owned by a lesbian fishing woman on the Isle of Sheppy. A pair of converse or flat ankle boots and the chance of a wolf whistle from a leering builder would be zero. Bingo! Although I know that I'm no longer of an age that the scaffolders would turn their heads to, I still find myself giving a garment the wolf whistle measurometer. I grew up with boys and to be wolf whistled at would make my blood boil! And the problem with these trousers was, unless worn in my lesbian armour attire, I could hear wolf whistle alarm alerts going off like fire-engines. So there wasn't much room for deviation in my mind. And when it came to reaching for the oversized, over grown jumper for the fourth and fifth occasion I realised that those trousers just weren't and aren't my thing. Flexible they were not and I do love a bit of bendability from my clothes, so I gave them to Jo and she gives them the sexiness they deserve. I can't wear them how she does but then I don't have glossy, swishy hair, an unapologetically sexy way of sashaying and daughters, - yes, maybe my boys are making me into a tom-mum. Either way, I love the way she dresses, I'd even go so far as to say I admire it but I'm also aware that my personality likes clothes that are a little less foxy.
 When I worked as a stylist, as a way of rustling up some good money fast to set up my own business, I was fortunate enough to work with some decent bands who quite honestly did not need any styling. Supergrass, Coldplay, Matthew Jay, Turin Brakes and Divine Comedy were just a few, none of whom are wardrobe entourage heavy but the record companies couldn't help themselves, at a time when there was a whole lot of budget given over to a whole lot of image. I remember receiving endless calls from panicky record company juniors telling me how they didn't want a band to look but never any references to what they were gunning for. Great. I could see the musicians coming out in hives at the thought of meeting a stylist and me, the stylist was already apologising for the prospect of telling them what to wear. In the end I just went shopping for them. I could see what their personal preferences were and like a well meaning female friend I simply edited out any penchants for long leather coats or ill fitting jeans. No-one ever had a freaky style transformation and everyone was happy. These boys were musicians. They didn't need to be Gaga'd to be appreciated.
 What I have come to find as I get a little older is that personal style is a wonderfully liberating thing and you don't have to be a fashion lover to have it. Know what you like and don't worry about Gok Wan's opinion. If he had his way I'd be walking around town with my "baps out and strutting those leopard legs"! Stick someone in something they are not comfortable in and the clothes wear the wearer. Around our neck of the woods, in trendy Dalston zone, there may be a sea of young style types but an awful lot of it is so self-conciously fashion that  I don't see them as individuals. They are a mass of fashion, all wearing the same current trend as their uniform and morphing into one big clump of boringness. Shrunken jumpers, kids duffle coats and geeky glasses. It all looks cold and uncomfortable. No wonder they all seem so glum.     
 So next time I'm caught in a mad-dash must-buy moment I will take a second to weigh up the number of lesbian-fishing-top outings the garment will require to survive my alarm bell ringing head. More than two and I'm running the same way as Asa! I'm not from Sheppy you see and I'm married. To a man.

My trusty seafarin' beauty. And Jessie.