Make a real confession

Everything I read, and indeed many people I encounter on a daily basis, suggest I should wear more colours. You wear a lot of black, they say. You should be more adventurous, the books say.

But the thing is this: I really love black. I love rose pinks and creams and red and green and teal and orange too, but I love black with a passion.

I love that it covers you like a shadow and allows you to blend in seamlessly where ever you go. I love that hides a multitude of sins, including gluttony and sloth. I love that it it signifies an absence of colour yet is so welcoming to other colours, allowing a void that can only be enhanced by ivory or ginger or even navy.

I love that it makes crystals sparkle and pearls glow. I love that no other colour makes a simple shift so utterly adaptable to any occasion.  I love that it can be deep and glossy in a satin or silk, or frail and cloudy in a thin cotton. I love that it makes wool coats a little warmer.

I love that I can get out bed, slurp hot coffee while peering in my wardrobe, slip a black dress over my head and everything else will fall into place in seconds: shoes, scarf, blazer, earrings.

You can't categorise black. It can be painfully hip, deadly serious, low key, formal, casual or regal. It goes everywhere but makes no unreasonable demands for attention the way yellow or red do. It's not soft like pink and it's not high maintenance like white.

I applaud every colourful outfit I see and really enjoy watching how people of the blog universe mix their hues ... but I think we need to be a little more forgiving of black. It does us all a lot of favours.

The jacket is a recent thrift find - David Lawrence, 6.00 from Vinnies in Chatswood. There's those Vara pumps again - working overtime because they are so comfortable.

 The dress is from Jaeger in London. Jaeger is the one thing I have in common with Sylvia Plath - she loved it too.

The pin is a stonking big blister pearl in a weird oyster colour. I love it.

Meanwhile Ellie, who rather rocks black accents herself, found me and my black manifesto entirely unintersting.

Far from the saddening fruit

Over at Sal's there is an interesting discussion about age appropriate dressing that has struck deep at the heart of many bloggers. Many of the daily-wear posts have addressed the topic with close reference to what they are wearing today. I'm going to do the same but first I want to draw attention to a mandarin that is breaking my heart:

I ate one of its relatives today, or at least tried to, only to end up with a mouth full of tense squirting flesh that tasted of stewed knitting. I left this mandarin where I can keep an eye on it but I don't know that I'm actually going to trust it enough to eat it.

I'm glad we've got that out of the way. Now, clothes.

I am very fond of my workhorse clothes and accessories. I've already shown you my current work bag and one of my favourite pendants; today I present the dress I will invariably don when I feel & look like I have been eating bowling balls or when my skin is the colour of ash and infection or when I am running twenty minutes late or when I need to look capable and when I want to be comfortable but still wear a rather nice frock.
This is from Jaeger in London. It's made from a beautiful silk jersey, has very empowering shoulders and deep pockets that keep safe pens, stray business cards and some life saving almonds. I bought this dress the same day I bought my red Bayswater. I wear this dress so frequently even my drycleaner recognises it. The only thing I don't like about it is that I didn't buy two for that one day this one will disintegrate from the constant wear it endures.

I love Jaeger for a number of reasons, not the least being it's where Sylvia Plath went shopping when her benefactor sent her a cheer-up cheque after Ted Hughes & she separated. Jaeger is the one label I believe addresses the needs of a woman of any age with complete respect. There is no patronising advertising, no shrill dresses designed for one type of excitable teenager, no dowdy hide-me clothes that are so often manufactured for women who have a few decades under their Celine belt and no fuss made of the fact that their clothes will suit & delight women of any age. Also, they use fabulous fabrics and are not afraid of the big button.

Finally, my learned friend who kindly took the Jaeger dress photograph suggested that I feature too many feet in my posts. It smacks, he hinted, at a sort of foot obsession. He is of course right. Here are his: