The comfort of being a frump

Fashion issues, age or just plain lack of interest reared its head in the lift as I left the office this evening.


There was I, in a respectable grey, knee length skirt, white cotton knit 3/4 sleeve shirt, topped with a navy cardigan, all atop navy court shoes. Totally respectable and happy to chat with colleagues in the lift as we descended from level 16. My love of cardigans and twin sets has endured from my entrance on the 'sort of' fashion stage with the 'Sloan rangers'. Frilly shirt cuffs and collars, opaque tights and yes, even occasionally a set of pearls.


At level 14 we were joined by a pert young thing and my conversation dried up. I love magazines, but they mostly contain food or sportsmen, and I can't seem to embrace fashion mags.


My untrained eye spotted a black wrap jacket in a sort of crushy, sheeny fabric. If I didn't know better (and I volunteer that I don't) I may have suggested taffeta, but it was much finer than the 80's version I remember. Her skirt was a bubble skirt of the same material, which made me remember that dreadful Haysi Fantayzee song 'shiny, shiny'.


Below this relatively restrained concoction were opaque tights (it IS December!) and patent (ie shiny!!) 4 inch strappy shoes with SILVER SOLES AND HEELS!


At this moment, as she tottered from the lift and out the front door, I strode purposefully home in my practical attire, embracing my frumpyness. Long may cardies rule!