Once upon a time, youthful arrogance allowed me to believe that I could carry off absurd fashion.
Like the models in the magazines, I believed that I too could rock a bowl cut, or platform Doc Martens, or a bodysuit with no bra.
But now that I am am older and more cognisant of my sartorial shortcomings, I am fully aware that attempting high fashion leaves me looking less like a British It Girl – and more like I’d just forgotten to take my meds.
So it was with great glee this morning that I announced that I WILL NOT CONDONE THE FANCY TRACKSUIT TREND.
NO SIR.
Not on my watch.