Before I went to London I was told to take lots of pictures…but I think I’m past that point. True, London is a cultural stronghold home of moderately sized ben, the queen, the tate factory museum of art and so on but after going to the country twice a year since birth and even a short attempt at living there the novelty wears off.
Now I go to shop.
In 48 hours I made a significant dent in my credit card and committed to every major shopping center in the vicinity. I took shopping to London to mean ‘buy things I can’t find at home’ aka nothing even remotely close to anything I own already. I attempted to find the perfect faux fur vest (again. Also had to resist the urge to write ‘purrrfect’ instead of perfect) and even after falling in love with this one:
I still looked like the yeti. And not in an endearing way, in a shrunken sasquatch kind of way.
I’ve always been convinced sequins are the work of the devil, made for the likes of blake lively and the other whoreish sort, but for some reason I kept finding myself drawn to things that looked like this:
yes. Fully sequined blazers. Now all I want is a black sequined blazer so I can wear it on top of a white tank and jeans and channel my inner mj. And be fabulous.
Sidenote: most disturbing part of the weekend was seeing a woman who was roughly 70 years old pick up this dress:
and proceed to walk to the dressing room. Someone needs to tell her she’s past her cougar years.
