First of all, can we just appreciate my cat’s bum in the photo above (and I don’t even smoke so erm, who got the raw deal there?). Secondly, no you’re not imagining things, that is in fact a beret on my head and no, your wtf face isn’t the first wtf face I’ve had to explain myself to. As I turned up at St Pancras for a work trip to Paris recently, croissant in one hand and my beret in the other (naturally), I was fully aware that I was about to be subjected to a barrage of abuse from my non-beret bearing work pals. But I’m not ashamed, I am a Parisian wannabe. Parisian women are immaculate super-humans and if a felt hat with a little nipple on it makes me an ounce more like them, then you can betcha baguette I’ll be wearing one. Haters gonna hate.
The only thing is, you can’t wear one and not feel like a d*ck. Well, unless you’re Kate Moss or Cher Horowitz from Clueless. I’m sure they’re both throwing a very smug (possibly naked) beret soiree right now, in honour of the humble hat revival. But instead of nipple tassels they’ll just have a beret swinging from each nip – it’s what Vogue would want.
But for the rest of us muggles, it’s basically a fashion faux pas waiting to come back and haunt you in 5 years time. Tilt it too far and you’ll look like a d*ck, wear it too far down your tête and you’ll look like an even bigger d*ck. Life lesson number uno: if you’re gonna make a beret work then you need to at least attempt to take on the beret slouch. Otherwise, you’re really just wearing a beanie. And nothing is worse than wearing a beret as a beanie. Anna Wintour would strike you with an iron if she saw you in the street – like Little Mo Mitchell did to Trevor that time.
See by wearing a beret, you immediately send out a message that you are trying pretty hard to be a sophisticated sausage and to be fair, I need all the help I can get in that department (the red lip’s foolin’ no one). You might even have a paintbrush swanning about in your bag. Some poetry, maybe even a neck tie. Basically you are a badass beret-wearing force to be reckoned with and no amount of abuse can tear you down because, hello you’re prepared to wear a lopsided nipple on ya head for lols. If that’s not a responsible feminist with zero sh*ts to give, I don’t know what is.
Apart from my latest Eurostar
debut debacle, the last time I wore a beret it was because I was forced to wear a beret. Shout out to every single Davison girl who knows the pain of those flamin’ red rascals. ‘Ora et Labora’ gals, Ora et Labora.
On school trips we’d all strut along like we were the next best thing since those little French gals in Madeline (what a corker of a film that is by the way. PS it is available on Netflix. PPS I don’t know how I know that). Our socks were rolled down, our skirts were rolled over and our ties were as fat as our cool af bubble writing – but no coach trip was ever complete without that babe of a beret. As if our cankle-grazing skirts weren’t sexy enough eh? Oh no. We had to look like sunburnt nuns while we were at it. I’m talking like Lady Danger or Ruby Woo bright. What a time to be alive. In fact, I still have my Davos’ beret so I might as well whip that bad boy out and get some wear out of it. I guess it’s true what they say after all… ‘Once a Davison girl, always a Davison girl’. Love you bye.
Photography by Olivia Foley
Jacket: Missy Empire
Sunglasses: Missy Empire
Shoes: Pretty Little Thing
Lipstick: MAC Ruby Woo
Bag: Zara (available on eBay)