So apparently it’s London Fashion Week. Or LFW as those in the know seem to be calling it.
Now, I like to think of myself as a fairly open minded kind of person, with a broad range of interests. But when it comes to the F word, I struggle to count how many damns I do not give.
It really, truly, genuinely baffles me that otherwise quite sane people can go into raptures over a heeled shoe, a hat or handbag.
For me, clothes are functional (and some of mine are barely that). They are to keep me warm and cover my wobbly bits. End of. I have a vague sense that some colours are probably better on me than others but beyond that, if it’s comfortable and fits, then that’s all that matters.
The whole ‘thing’ *waves hand around airily* around fashion is so alien to me. How do you write about it? How is it possible that entire magazines are packed from cover to cover with articles about clothes? Not just once, but month after month. Is there really so much more you can say about cotton over cashmere, or micro over mini? Does it matter if a particular shade of blue is kingfisher or cobalt? And how can anyone get excited about the length of a shirt or the shape of a sleeve?
I have a degree in art history. I promise I’m not a complete philistine. I can appreciate a pretty thing when I see one but, even in my lack of domesticity, I’d far rather read a feature about dainty tea sets or patterned wallpaper than one on carefully co-ordinated catwalk outfits or – save me from the madness – this season’s street style.
I wonder if it means I’m lacking, in some way? Should I care more than I do? Would my life be better if I had eyebrows like Cara Delevingne or shoes from Christian Louboutin?
I doubt it, but I’m willing to be persuaded… hit me with your thoughts, fashionistas.