My style, if I had to name it, is a bit retro 80’s. I never stopped wearing leggings, although bike shorts have been long banned from both my active and everyday wardrobe. In the Aqua Net days of running after boys in eyeliner and hair bands, I felt the noize in black bike shorts under baby doll tunics or long jackets with comically triangular shoulder pads (always long to cover the mound of Venus; a cotton/spandex blend shows knuckle and toe, moose and camel), pulled over opaque hose and worn with cowboy boots (black, natch). God I loved that silly, silly look.
God it was awful.
I dress for my body and that’s always meant slick on bottom, forgiving on top. My weight hugs my middle, what little waist curvature I have is high, while my legs are long and the slimmest part of me. My look is stylish blousons or hugging-the-bosom empire waist tops over dark washed skinny jeans (always generously cuffed at the bottom), long sweaters worn as dresses over dark tights and swingy shifts over leggings. In the summer, a wedge peep-toe sandal; I can walk miles in them, comfy as a gym shoe. I love anything pointy toed, flats, boot, heels. Slippers. And I only adorn with large hoop earrings, always silver and never smaller than a bangle I could slip over my wrist.
That’s about to change. I found a fresh style and it’s 1960’s mod London.
I’ll keep the hoops and heavy bang (née, "fringe") and maybe add a bit of bump to the crown.
But I declare the summer froth with side-zipped, ankle skimming easy Capri slacks, loose fitting, sleeveless shells, soft as butter ballet flats (rounded, no point) and simple cotton cardigans.
All because of a movie called An Education whose style made me want to smoke gorgeous pastel Russian cigarettes, drink champagne in jazz clubs, twirl my dark locks up into a chignon, traipse in kitten heeled sling backs and swing in shiny, tight-fitted brocade and floral cocktail dresses.
Plus I've gone nutty for a man in bold navy suit, crisp white shirt and skinny black tie.
With a clip.