We need to talk. It just isn’t working. I never expected to say this, I thought we were soul mates, you and I. But 2010 has arrived, the flowers are bursting, and it is time to move on. You have darkened my wardrobe for years, shrinking into the shadows, sneaking your way onto shelves and into drawers... but the time has come. Oh trusty black pumps, oh favourite black cardigan, oh jet velvet jacket, oh staple black vest top, oh mass of wrinkled black opaques - it is time to say goodbye.
We have come a long way together; you have been the comfort blanket of my wardrobe, the simple synonym of cool, and the fallback of my sartorial choices. Because black goes with everything, doesn’t it? Ah, but along comes a new decade, and these fashion feet begin to itch. 2010 is about growing up and tearing away the blanket; it’s painful, but necessary.
I’m sorry, but the passion has simply died; there are new heartthrobs in town. Rose, buttercup, mint, parma violet, forget-me-not blue... mouth watering shades that cry out in voices so innocently sweet that it would break my heart to resist. Christopher Bailey wooed with lilac ruching and lemon chiffon as light as air. If Burberry is the celebrity swoon, Topshop is my school crush. Floaty floral dresses, sherbet denim and the new staples: peppermint, cornflower and sorbet pink strap tops. This is a cleansing palette of shades to wash away the memories of our over-stretched love.
It’s not you, it’s me, I just need a change. Vampish has lost its allure; I want to make like Dorothy in Christopher Kane gingham and become a pistachio princess in Chanel couture.
I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have fallen for your arch enemy. Phoebe Philo makes her return at Celine, the lights go up on the catwalk, the models stream out and it is love at first site. White: a fresh breath, a clean canvas. White in the form of billowing trousers and pristine shirts; collarless, starched sleeves and draping pussy bows. In the depths of my heart grows a yearning for that perfect white shirt.
Goodbyes are never easy. Sometimes it is hard to let go. My faithful tights, loyal jacket, and sturdy black handbag make this parting bittersweet sorrow. Yet detox I must. I’m tired of playing the cool game, of this surly expression and this gloomy chic facade. I can’t do this anymore - I just want to look pretty. As each patch of darkness is removed from my wardrobe I feel the giddy, frightening, delicious excitement of this new love. White, pink, blue, caramel, lemon, anything as long as it’s not black. So long, adieu, you have served me well. But it’s just time to say good bye.
P.S LBD, you are excused. Because as Coco knew, there are just some times when nothing else will do.
Libby
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