I have something to confess.
I am a fully fledged, paid up member of Print Addicts Anonymous. It’s true, open my wardrobe and you would be forgiven for thinking you had walked into a 1970s curtain sample shop.
I have skirts covered in bikes, dresses with more pot plants on than B&Q and countless floaty, flowery blouses.
There are stripes, spots, animals, weather systems. You name it, I own a garment covered in it. All well and good. If it fits and suits, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of print. That is until the moment you realise there is no way you could reach into your wardrobe and bring out two random items that don’t immediately induce a migraine.
I am having this revelation daily as I struggle to pair ANY of my clothes with anything other than jeans or plain t-shirts. As I hurtle towards 30 I am also beginning to wonder how long I have left to pull off t-shirts with cats on.
This afternoon I went shopping in a bid to grow-up my wardrobe. I was looking for flattering lengths, skin enhancing tones and anything that would make me look less of a children’s television presenter. I was adamant that come closing time I would have a bag full of items that would Audrey Hepburn the life out off myself.
As it is, I am sat surrounded by even more peices that will ensure I spend my middle age looking more Pollard than Hepburn. I NEED HELP!
I need to realise that a black dress is beautiful as it is, it doesn’t need a flock of birds to make it soar. A white shirt is entirely more sexy than one that has anchor shaped buttons. A black t-shirt does more for my skinny jeans (and my gently plumping figure) than the hundreds I have depicting various members of the animal kingdom.
Once I learn these print detoxing lessons I may just begin to exude the grace and understated elegance that I crave. It’s either that or dress like a clown for the rest of my life.
Just don’t open my underwear drawer….