Fifty Shades of Black

The best part of a decade spent in college has meant that I have been practically broke throughout my twenties. Since I've just turned thirty I'm hoping that this will change soon but until it does I'm happy to wallow in sartorial hits from last season (really circa 2007) and rugby gear.

Laziness and a severe lack of patience has meant that limited income has not always been the root problem of my wardrobe – I know what I like but a combination of pennies and ‘meh’ have resulted in a look that can only be described as “..."

I often look at those around me with, I don’t know, style? in absolute envy – to me a good wardrobe is a signature of those who have their lives sorted and together, an easy observation to make considering that, on the scale of the actual floor to Everest, my life is not one thing I am on top of.

And hence the thought behind today’s post – clothes are meant to instill confidence and comfort and over the last while I’ve discovered that very few of mine do but they do instead say “CRINGE” loudly, and make me die a little inside each day at work, especially when I spot a new rip in the seams or even a new ink stain. Except for my 80s inspired puffball ra-ra gúna – that thing is a winner and will one day have its own post.

I’ve taken one such outfit from my cheapy-weepy collection to demonstrate the lowliness of my fashionista credentials – a black number that is old in parts (thrifty in all) which actually proves that many shades of black available cheaply an inspired outfit does not make.

Black boots which actually look brown here (and which, incidentally are a mere three weeks old) really accentuate the dusky hue of the, eh, black tights.

As we enter the second phase of this my-clothes-are-crap-so-my-future-is-obviously-bleak analysis, note the introduction of another shade of black, this time on my pretty patterned skirt; the stems of the flowers neatly mirroring the distracting reflection of light from the black plastic-ish tights.

Et voila. And you thought my skirt was black wha?! Three pictures in and we are finally provided with an image of what 'real' black looks like, a shade only made more obvious by the aforementioned 'black' but not black skirt. Thanks jumper! Although it's hard to make out, there is a hole the size of Guatemala on my left shoulder which I usually mistake for dandruff on my shoulder though I have that too. Today, it provides the eagle-eyed public with glimpses of my red bra strap. 

I really like how this outfit increases in degrees of blackness the further from my feet we go. You know, like in and around my soul. Laugh.

And now a reward for your patience with this absurdly pointless post - see if you can spot me camouflaged within my black armchair. 

Too many shades, too few words. So much shame.