A hundred years ago I tried on a dress, it was brightest bright blue and I tried it on just for fun because I was in a grey mood and brightest bright blue seemed like it might help, even though I would never in many many years wear such a colour (such a colour is altogether too look at me for a girl who really isn't very look at me at all*).
I loved that dress, it turned out that I quite liked being look at me and that the colour perfectly suited my so-pale-it's-slightly-blue-and-oh-my-god-is-that-your-internal-organs-that-I-can-see? skin and dirty blonde hair. It make me all strutty and pouty and I may even have winked at myself in the mirror. Just a little. But alas, the dress was three hundred million and sixty two pounds and I was getting married and had just bought one rather expensive dress, a second one was really not justifiable, and so it went back on the hanger and with it went my strutt and my pout and I haven't seen them since.
This dress is the same colour. That perfect colour that I've been dreaming about ever since. That colour that I can't quite find the word for. And I want it. And it's reduced. And yet again I've blogged about it so yet again I'm not going to be able to buy it, sneak it into my wardrobe and tell the husband that it was such a bargain, only £10, reduced from £100 and wasn't I clever to snaffle such a deal!
* although I suspect that this might be changing. Last week I saw a girl in pink, leopard print skinny jeans and I thought, oooh, I like those, I wonder where I can get a pair? She had to be at least a decade younger than me though and for the first time in my life I wondered if I was just too old to be wearing such a thing. Which was depressing.
. dress by Rachel Comey, from Frances May
. photo courtesy of Frances May