Wardrobe frustrations

Last summer, although I had a healthy bank account, I was too tied up with my job at the House of Pain to do any real shopping. Occasionally I would do a mercy dash into Banana Republic or Zara on Fifth after being sheep dipped in fake tan next door to pick up a generic frock for work to replace my humidity crumpled rags, but that was about the extent of it.

I certainly didn’t have the time or inclination to engage with my wardrobe in any meaningful sense, certainly not in any agenda setting, I am an up my own arse Important Fashion Editor type of way. And, consequently, all that I have in my summer wardrobe (er, suitcase) are a series of faux pregnancy smocks from 2007, knackered work outfits from last year & vertiginous heels suitable only for Town Car transport.

What I want for my Cali trip are short shorts, perfect jeans, sundresses that don’t suggest the third trimester and clumpy wedge sandals to give impression of colt-ish legs. (Look, I said impression, okay? I am allowed my fantasies.)

Unfortunately, my usual solutions are out: I now know that sample sales are the route to wrong-ness - it’s 100% guaranteed that every piece you buy will end up on Ebay owing to over-enthusiastic belief that a whopping discount equals desirable item, vintage in this city is pretty hit & miss given the jaw dropping prices of the stores on Manhattan & the un-bosom-friendly sizing, fast fashion retailers have dubious ethics, fabrics & longevity, my sewing machine is in London and anyway, now that I am a freelance hack again, I have zero funds for wardrobe renewal.

Bloody annoying.