I feel like I've binged on London Fashion Week and am about to have the sartorial equivalent of a hyperglycemic attack as a result. I am a single catwalk-show viewing away from pledging never to wear an item of clothing ever again.
As an antidote to this, I'm reading through all of Michael Hogan's satirical '#madeuplfwtweets' (example: 'Stranger asked if I loved bags. I replied, "Totes!" She thought I meant just tote bags! HILAIRE!') while listening to the calming influence of Feist.
Already my threat of nakedness has been pacified. I will instead don a Feist-inspired Breton top and wear it for the rest of my life. And maybe avoid the internet until fashion week is over.
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