You may or may not have noticed a deafening silence from this direction last Sunday. There were tumbleweeds blowing through the ether.* Miss Wednesday has been somewhat indisposed and therefore her weekly blog didn’t happen. Not only did she have nothing about which she could fashion a blog, she had been struggling to even sit up in bed to actually type it. Admittedly, by Sunday she was starting to get better but it still wasn’t good.
So she had a nice relaxing bath, as is her usual Sunday morning ritual, enveloped in a haze of rose-scented Floris, sustained by gin and good coffee and entertained by slightly soggy copies of Tatler and Vogue.
[Please imagine a lovely picture of a luxurious Edwardian bathroom, complete with tub full of bubbles. That’s what is supposed to be here, only with left-over lurgy still loitering, it proved to be a challenge too far.]
That’s when the fury started. Now, obviously, it wasn’t the Tatler causing it – perish the thought. That publication has given Miss W nothing but delight since she started reading it at school, back when Noah was in the sixth form. It wasn’t even Vogue. No, it was a little booklet/brochure enclosed with Vogue and showcasing the SS15 collection from a fashion label that had best remain anonymous.
Now Miss Wednesday was brought up in a world where quality and value were synonymous. If you bought quality, you automatically obtained good value. (We’re not talking “ridiculously overpriced luxury” here, just proper, well-crafted, good quality.) And when you bought something new, it was expected to look new when you bought it and – very importantly – to last a good long time, ageing gracefully once it lost its novelty and newness, to became a well-worn, loved and trusted old friend.
So what’s with this vogue for buying things that already look, well, knackered? Why would you want to spend your hard-earned cash on something that is pretty much worn out before you even get chance to wear it in? Doesn’t compute with Miss Wednesday at all. In between coughing, sneezing and swigging (medicinal) gin, she grumbled very loudly at pretty much every page of that brochure. Especially when she noticed the elasticated and drawstring waists…
Incidentally, the same principles apply with husbands. Either bag a nice new one and expect to wear him in and keep him forever or pick up a dodgy old one, expect him to look, well, “worn in” (although don’t make the mistake of expecting him to be properly trained; if he’s back on the market, it’s almost certainly because he isn’t) and definitely don’t think he’ll see you out. Of course, if that’s your plan. Anna Nicole…
*Well, actually, they were dog hair dust bunnies but Miss Wednesday has never been domesticated and considers animal hair to be excellent insulation.