£10 bought me this delightful romper/negligee in the dregs of the Topshop Sale. I put back my handful of £3 plimsolls deciding that a barely there leopard print number would bring me more joy. A size 10.. good enough. No tears. No signs of it having been trodden on by the gaggles of girls joining me in my quest- incidently ignoring my most treasured of finds.
Nurturing a recent obsession with Dolce & Gabbana-their colouring-ins in leopard print and their mantra of underwear as outerwear I threw on my new find completing with a white crochet top and went for tea with Mary. Turning a corner just off Shepherds bush green Mary greets me with compliments, how smug I feel with my successful navigation of the Topshop sale. Praise from an admired source.
Solitary on Kings Street on my way to pick up some films I am aware of raised eyebrows and turning heads, suddenly conscious of the bright whites beneath the layers of leopard. At this point when I feel I could defeatedly don some cycling shorts or worse, thick black tights and never bare again I think back to Dolce,Gabbana, and Mary and I pranced proudly on, extending my down town visit to M&S foodhall and Hammersmith Broadway. Maybe there is a line to be drawn to distinguish when it is ok to show your pants to the London City folk, maybe it is a bit sharper than it was in Brighton.. maybe I crossed it. But that day I decided inappropriate dressing is totally appropriate if it is enjoyed to the utmost and this outfit will be coming out again.