Look. Just LOOK what I am wearing today and run weeping to my door, begging me to attend your next party full of tiny Polly Pocket people in alarming clothes.
Ballerines Miu Miu:
This is taken avec my mop. C'est plus chic. You might think the left ballerine is broken: I call it elegantly distressed. Have I left the house wearing these shoes today? Yes internet. Yes I have and I will do it again.
This is a sort of impressionistic, overall taster of the outfit. That skirt is Sonia, innit. The rest is just cheapass crap. Oh, I think the t-shirt might be from American Apparel (AA sizing size: gigantic). That place scares me silly, with its exploited child staff, cheap '80s shop fittings and gold lamé leggings. My hand looks strangely tanned, but I think it is a chemical burn. I am holding Mr Propre Eau de Javel because I have been involved in a battle royal with a nest of tiny spiders behind a kitchen cupboard ("battle royal": spraying them from a distance, then jabbing at them with a broom with a j-cloth on the end). Mr Propre Eau de Javel is a hardass. He catapults me into respiratory distress but I still love him. Mr Propre Eau de Javel is my boyfriend.
Details. It's all about the details.
I am crouching artistically next to the recycling here to show you my ill-fitting bra and sturdy matron shelf to good effect. Because I am that committed.
Oh. I think I've talked myself out of it now. Never mind, as you were.