Welcome back to my mid-life-crisis! So the dungarees are obviously a nod towards more playful, more innocent times, but my Pleather dress is surely all rebellion. Today it’s the turn of my Warehouse pleather shift dress.
Basically, it’s a black dress. I wear it with black tights and either a dark red t shirt, or a striped one, and low heeled ankle boots. Shrug it on, a flick or a smudge of eyeliner, and I’m good to go. It’s a no-brainer, easy in the mornings, and every time I wear it I get *compliments*. I got a compliment from one of my older gentleman reports at work. Girls stop me in the canteen to tell me they love my dress.
I often reply “thank you, it’s wipe clean!” That’s because I’ve got a dirty sense of humour, and also because I have children so anything that you can attack with a baby wipe is good with me.
I had always been of the impression that leather clothing items that weren’t shoes and bags, and at a push a leather jacket were a bit… well… erm, mutton dressed as lamb. This is clearly because of my experience of going to see The Chippendales for a friend’s 18th birthday party and it was a woman in leather jeans (and vest top and long dyed blonde hair) who got pulled out of the audience for some mortifying grinding action delivered by an oiled up Chip. This longstanding prejudice confirms the theory of a dear English teacher I knew, who died last year, that sixth formers are the most moralistic human beings on the planet, particularly those studying English Lit, as most essays contain attitudes completely at odds with what most 17 and 18 year olds get up to on an average weekend…
But back to the Pleather! I’ll admit, exposure caused my attitude to soften. The leather look leggings of last year passed me by as a fashion opportunity. I was a bit dubious about thighs and non-stretch materials. But I was zooming by Warehouse in the Grand Arcade one lunchtime, and feeling a bit hot-to-shop, and there it was. I had to have it. But it still took me a few weeks to actually wear it, I think because I was worried it would be a bit warm. But also, you know, because pleather. What if other people shared my Chippendale experience prejudice? Isn’t it a bit try hard? What about not being taken seriously at work?
Frankly, my dears, I don’t give a damn. My pleather dress is fabulous; rock-chick in the meeting room chic (and I spend a lot of my time in meeting rooms). The pleather elevates the plain black shiftness of a potentially boring outfit to something with a touch of the daring rebel, and because I wisely bought the size up, my concerns about no-give in the plastic have proved to be unfounded, even though the dress has a fixed waistband.
Finally, my seven year old was my fashion photographer tonight. It was she who styled me ready for my close up. And a very good job she did too.