When You Are Alone In The Kitchen.

I spent a moment this morning contemplating the possibility of wearing the vintage Ralph Lauren. Straight from the 80’s, never sold in Japan (which pisses them off) and just make all those threadheads stew just to give it to them hot. I tried it on, and of course it looked amazing on me, but I just couldn’t do it. I don’t know if I was compensating for finally commenting on hypebeast or what, but my sudden urge to step out of my comfort zone in chambray was quickly quashed with an internal monologue going something not unlike this:

‘Just wear the green Prada.’

‘Forrest or Emerald?’

‘Forrest for fucksake!’

‘I don’t know. What if it’s cold?’

‘Raw silk cardigan in moss.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s an entirely normal thing for people to wear.’

‘I just don’t know.’

‘Fucksake!’

‘The purple Lanvin?’

‘I  really don’t  have time for this.’

‘It goes with the moss cardigan as well. ’

‘Jesus fucking fucksake and for fucksake’s fuck. Perfectly normal people wear Prada, and perfectly normal people wear green. Just put the fucking shit on and go to the fucking westfuckingside already. Fuck.’

And I went, and owing to yesterday’s meltdown at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf at the Westfield food court I went to another CB&TL; The one in the CAA building, which in and of itself makes me shudder, but when I got there it managed to be even worse than I had feared because as soon as I walked in it became readily apparent to me that I was not the only one who decided to wear a cardigan to work. 

Prissy little shit in front of me in something in charcoal or otherwise generic as air decided he couldn’t leave the establishment without a spoon. This, despite the fact that he was holding a black coffee and a panini didn’t shake him, and a daresay neither did my withering eye, but he got it all the same anyway. It was the least we could do.