Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Scattering accessories like confetti

The most aggravating thing about New York, (apart from the cab drivers who try to mow down poor cyclists), is the schizophrenic weather. It’s perfectly possible to frolic in spring sunshine (60F) one day, and cower in a raging sub zero blizzard the next. Not only does it make dressing fraught with complication (take it from me, trying to walk in ballerines on iced sidewalks in a freak snowstorm is impossible) but it requires diligence with accessories too.

As someone who always loses one of each glove, can never find her sunglasses/ear muffs/hat/scarf* and scatters umbrellas like confetti around the city, I can guarantee I am never carrying the right accoutrements for the weather. Of that list the absolute bane of my life are my bloody sunglasses. Can I ever find a pair of the sodding things when the freak sun shines here? Can I heck. When I’m not hiding them under the bed, behind the sofa or in the fridge, I am leaving them in random shops on the bus.

I have now lost THREE pair of Oliver Peoples tortoiseshell Vanadis. They are categorically Not Cheap and it distresses me enormously. The lovely London PR gave me my first pair, and that was it. Hooked for life. But now that I am here and not there I feel it would be rather rude to demand freebie replacements.

So sans Vanadis, and having snapped my emergency Bottega pair across the bridge of the nose, I have had to buy new sunglasses. Not only does this pain me financially (I’m supposed to be sticking to a shopping moratorium in Lent), it hurts me fashion-wise too. I do not suit sunglasses. Wrong face shape. Weird nose. They look all wrong on me. Hats yes, sunglasses no.

Anyway, I finally caved & bought these yesterday.

I know Mrs. Trefusis will be unimpressed, but they were super cheap ($70 on Ebay), have proper sun filtering lenses (which is almost impossible at that price point), and do actually suit me.

I just have to live with the fact that I look like I am trying to channel sodding Kirsten Dunst. I certainly can’t hang out in Williamsburg this summer wearing them in case I am mistaken for a faux hipster.

God, I want my Vanadis back.

*delete as applicable