Something wierd's going on. I'm being unusually drawn to the new Versace H&M collection that's released this week. Versace couldn't really be a more um-me label if it tried. All tight and leathery and skimpy. Don't get me wrong, on the right person I love it and think it looks visionary; I just personally, normally, wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. What's even more wierd is that being the size of a house, there's no way in hell that I could even get my little toe into any of the pieces. Yet I seem to think it's quite a good idea to actually buy one anyway for when I'm thin again.
My usual daily wardrobe is a tent of some kind. Something floaty from Cabbages and Roses, a slouchy Zadig cashmere number, my fave boyfriend jeans. Being pregnant I have two tent-like, A line, wool dresses on rotation. I'm now getting to the stage when each time I see them I inwardly groan and yearn to be able to wear something slightly more form fitting. They now have so many hideous bobbles on that even a Remmington Fuzzaway would have an instant melt down if it saw them. The collection's coming out on 17th, so that means I've got until thursday to come to my senses. Or maybe not. I'll keep you posted..