It’s a rhetorical title, Karen.
It’s 17.42, I’ve just boiled a salted caramel hot chocolate – you betcha I know how to live on the wild side. The football whirs & hums in the background and I can feel the slight burning sensation affiliated with too much beef and horseradish on my breath and within my nostrils.
So, quite the stereotypical Sunday portrait thus far.
This morning we sacrificed a leisurely lay in for coffee, car boots and creepy mannequins. Joe’s first ever antique-centric car boot. I know, how can you go through life without wandering around, lifting up bric-a-brac and putting it down again?
“There’s definitely a certain type of person that goes to a car boot,” he says to me as I stroke a series of antique rugs hanging over a van door.
“What do you mean?” I reply with my best inquisitive voice.
I know exactly what he means: the worn jacket, textured hair, thick practical hands, a dog, pocket tissues, the faint whiff of furniture polish, moss and sticky figs.
A market place is an intriguing setting. Take the naked toddler doll sat in the chair with no genitalia, for example. A child ahead of its time, but what’s the story there?
I’ve seen many dolls before but they’ve always been newborns, this one was ready for big school at least two years ago. When does a doll stop being a doll and start being a mannequin? So. Many. Questions.
We didn’t buy anything this time round but that’s the beauty of a car boot. Sometimes looking round at another man’s trash is enough and other times you’ll come back with a framed portrait of Princess Diana and a new sofa. There’s just no telling which way it’s gonna swing.
When I think about it, I’m more likely to go for the eclectic, anything goes, car boot style when it comes to my outfit choices too ya know.
Not quite the spicy 18 year old Lareese who only wore sequins (god bless her sass) but I’m definitely more inclined to go for the big lobe stretching earrings over the simple studs, put it that way.
One look in my wardrobe and you’ll see green, a plethora of rust, leopard print, satin, androgynous blazers, checks, florals – I don’t recommend it on a hangover tbh.
I feel v comfortable in statement pieces that speak for themselves and that require minimal effort on my part. You wear them and they wear you and you both know where you stand.
But when it comes to classic and polished… I just don’t know what to do with that.
My mood dictates my style. I can go from lurvin’ the colour pink to hating it all within the same 8.5 hour working day, I’m fickle and indecisive and pretty unfaithful with my fashion choices. But I think I can feel the tide a-changing.
I’m ready to recognise that as much as I like to be daring with my fashion choices, they need balance – it’s about finding that sweet spot between plain Jane and 1980s excess.
And even if classic and polished is scary territory for me, I want to be able to wear a more refined style with confidence and easing myself in with accessories seemed like a good place to start.
Enter the Radley London Patcham Palace cross body bag – aka marriage material. As sleek as it is practical, it’s big enough for all my daily essentials (phone, purse, Smarties, Diet Coke) without compromising on style.
We’re swamped with trend-led fashion on a daily basis, so much so we’re often enticed into panic buying items simply because they’re popular & in demand – I too, am guilty of this which is why I went for something with longevity over the “currently trending” hype.
No gimmicks, no fuss – just classic, timeless style.
I don’t want to speak too soon but I think this could be the start of somethin’ beautiful.
PS: notice that plethora of rust in action though, eh. Yes it’s a bold look, no they’re not pjs. Yes they look like pjs. I can’t pull the plug on my gutsy getup just yet.
Love you bye.
*This blog post is sponsored content in collaboration with Radley London*
Top & Trousers: Missguided