AN EARLY DABBLING IN A DANGEROUS COLOUR PALETTE
I once fancied a chicken because he had glasses. I know that may sound confusing but I harboured within my adolescent loins a curious and unadultered fascination with spectacle-clad gents. He was a member of the cast of Chicken Run, not a lead character, oh no – an underdog – and I was about sixteen. Ok, you may be wondering what this has to do with my sartorial choices but trust me, it has everything to do with them! Bear with me.
I had an unrequited crush on a man named Eoin who worked in the local pizza parlour, Gino’s. By some strange twist of fate, every time I saw Eoin, I was wearing the exact same outfit. It was an azure blue Benetton zip-up hoodie with striped arms, teamed with a pair of denim hipster flares, flowers embroidered at the nethermost area of each leg. Every time I put on that outfit, I would experience a distinct sense of foreboding that I may in fact, come across my unrequited love and that he would mistake me for a common tasteless urchin, resigned to one sartorial option. ‘Nonsense, fool,’ I would reassure myself, ‘you haven’t worn this outfit for two months.’ Yet, systematically, each time I pulled those gauche leg-stunting denims over my teenage hips, the inevitable happened. Our love was doomed.
Since that day, I never wore blue again. True fact. Like a bad fringe that won’t grow out, the shadow of bluish possibility hung over me for many years. I missed out on trends and fads and shied away from conversations when the talk turned to ecchymotic matters.
So, when I saw this Maje Air Force Academy jumper I thought twice about buying it. I persisted in my affections. I visited the jumper on the Outnet daily. I courted it, whispering sweet nothings to my blank computer screen wishing it would give me a sign that we were right for each other. I wanted it to persuade me that it wouldn’t accentuate the pullulating pigments of chartreuse and pistachio my skin contained underneath the strata of foundation I layered on my face to make myself look less Caucasian. Even with my best anti-redness relief primer would this steely shade make me look like a bilious waif of the Cold War period?
Then I thought back to the chicken I called Eoin (despite that not being his name at all). What would Eoin do, I thought? Not much, I decided, except maybe totter about the farm or get into some hilarious capers but that was just distracting because Eoin would never have worn a jumper. He had a gorgeous body, clad with luscious feathers and really and truly, a jumper would look ridiculous on him. This minor cogitation was getting a little distracting so I got back to the matter at hand. Was I going to let that jumper get away at such a great price? Sadly, yes, I was. But guess who wasn’t? Steven Paul Richardson. My photographer and gentleman friend, the man with the ass that launched a thousand ships. Thank you for SPR for my jumper.And thank you for making me believe in blue again. You, good sir, are a true patron of the Arts. x
Jumper: Maje, The Outnet, reduced from €125 to €62.50, available online here.
Skirt: H&M, instore now, €39.99.
Shoes: BCBG, TK Maxx, €55.
Socks: River Island, €1, bought on recent mid-season sale. Similar available in Topshop, here.