I am feeling reasonably foxy these days. Let’s not even mention the stinking scale, because everything else is trundling along. Inches melting, muscles appearing, fitness increasing, skin a-glowing, blah blah blah.
So with this in mind I went for a wander round the shops the other day. Just to check out the new summer stock, I said. But really more to check out myself in a range of different mirrors. Mwahaha.
It started out well — I tried on a nice flippy skirt (size 12!) and some nice linen trousers (size 12! (only if I sucked in my guts!)). But when I tried to find a top it all became completely rubbish.
I don’t know what it’s like anywhere else in the world right now, but over here it’s all these voluminous, floaty, 60s-inspired smocks. The fashion mags are crowing how they hide a multitude of sins — perfect for summer holidays as you can stuff your gob without worrying about a bloated tummy. Hurrah!
Well they just ain’t working for me. First there’s these dinky little puff sleeves which hit my arms at the most unflattering point, so they look all strung up and strangled like a leg of lamb. Then the fabric just spews down straight from the shoulders, or somewhat less ghastly from under the bust, completely covering the waist and hips.
Perhaps this flattering for some body shapes but it is completely hideous on me. I’ve always had wide shoulders, but if I wear more fitted tops that come in at the waist, everything more or less balances out with my hips. But this smock-o-rama shite hides my decent bits and points red flaming arrows to my worst. I look either 8 months pregnant or like a big brute of a rugby player, all lardy shoulders and meaty thighs.
And I’m sure the lurid 60s patterns look beguiling and Twiggy-esque on less sturdy lasses, but on me it just adds to the over all dumpy old granny effect. It’s worse than the dreaded Peasant Hooker Shit debacle of 2002.
YOOHOO, fitted tops! Are you out there? Somewhere? Anywhere? Make yourselves known, or I shall have to waddle the streets looking like this:
The onslaught of spring also brings the annual shoe dilemma. I seek pretty summer shoes that can be walked in for miles and miles. I need decent support and a good sole due to honking huge feet and a dodgy knee. Last year I found a nice pair of mules that felt dead comfy in the shop, but I think I need a shoe that is actually strapped to my foot. All those slip-on-y shoes that you have to kind of work to keep on your foot end up killing me. Ballet flats don’t work either, I need a wee heel otherwise I look like a drag queen.
Does such a shoe exist? Supportive yet stylish? Or should I just go straight out and buy some orthopedic clonkers that will work a treat with my matronly smock? Bah.