It's that time of year again when I get rather excited about all the new season's fashion and dream of looking like a perfectly put together creature who exudes just the right combination of stepping out of the pages of Vogue and boldly showcasing my own particular take on the current trends. This Season my style crush is Louis Vuitton, with his irresistible combination of vintage-esque ladylike primness with a healthy dash of geek chic: http://www.vogue.co.uk/fashion/show.aspx/full-length-photos/id,8886# This feels a little strange to me, as I usually find Louis Vuitton garish, tacky and tarty but I would do seriously dire things to get my hands on just one of those circle skirts.
So, I anticipate that I will trawl the high street for the best interpretations of this collection, find a few good quality and very 'me' versions of Vuitton, and proudly strut around feeling fabulous and devilishly stylish. The reality, of course, is that I will spend hours dragging a screaming, bored baby around Reading town centre and end up buying something ill-fitting, cheap and nasty from H&M once I've almost had breakdown number three in as many hours. I will then flump down in some cafe, having finally succumbed to the hunger and thirst that I have been ignoring all day, feeling guilty about buying into the horror that is consumer culture and wondering when I can return that god-aweful and pointless purchase I've just killed myself in making. I will never learn.
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