(just thought an incorrect French title would still sound so much more alluring than regular English no?)
Now of all the toughest deepest darkest secrets we’ve ever had to confess to friends, family - and even strangers during Truth or Dare (why do we even subjugate ourselves to such suffering anyhoo), from killing your little sister’s favourite cat and blaming it on the dog (you know who you are) to blaming your driver and having him fired for your own dishevelled car accident/cancellation (you don’t actually know who you are cuz I’m not supposed to know about this either), nothing is more dreaded or avoided than your own ultimately disastrous fashion faux pas.
Yes. The biggest mistake you ever wore in your life. Made to the public. In the form and shape of your body. Labelled as a crazy lunatic and loss of all fashion respect for the rest of your life highly likely. Out and about for the world to see in all its guts and no glory.
I remember mine. Very well and clearly, unfortunately. My -1 readers, you might be thinking, but dear Luma, did you actually believe it was only 1 outfit that made the list? Being the modest and honest person that I 'totally' am, I will confess that this moment actually came about a multitude of times. But to let my new readers (yes you heard it right, I now officially have 0 readers after receiving a comment from a stranger! Thank you stranger :)) suffer the agony of hearing such tales… I think I’d rather stick to one story.
And it’s not a memory that could have easily been forgotten. It was actually a sunny and beautiful day – one of only 97 possible sunny days of the year in London (This statistic coming straight from my Mom, who apparently confirmed this from very reliable sources at the BBC - The Alan Carr show if you must know).
My first day of the summer after uni had ended. My first sunny day of freedom in London.
(More like the return of Christ with this blood red sun but anyway)
My first chance to express my upcoming glory-filled lazy Pimms-laden appropriate summer chic-est outfits ever.
Cue in the horridness.
Christopher Kane S/S 09
Not the shirt. I actually love this shirt. Just thought the gorilla face would be effective. Ok yes, so back to cue-ing in the horridness.
Orange round collar t-shirt (yes you heard it, not mustard yellow, not ashburn orange, but bright-in-your-face-I-could-be-a-mandarin orange, the only time I wore that shade and will never do it again) and cobalt blue high-waisted skirt, black & gold vintage (by vintage, I mean plasticky-‘worn out look’-tacky-made-in-Taiwan-last-year) tribal necklace with lizard-print flats.
I save you the agony of having visuals of both the outfit and my friends’ faces (some of which are no longer that close to me – I tell you it’s a risky thing). It is far too painstakingly horrifyingly painful to view (the word pain was repeated twice for good measure). And instead, I provide you with a mix of wavering pastels that might hopefully erase that vivid memory of such uncalled for, tasteless to say the least, colour combos –
Cue in pleasant cheesy elevator music/slash-your-wrists heavy metal as appropriate.
Features Editor of Sketchbook Magazine, recently converted pescetarian and aspiring photographer, follow me covering my life as it covers/takes over me in a little town called London and beyond.
All pictures are taken by a Nikon D60 with the occasional shot by an iPhone or Sony Cyber Shot T70.