A Melburnian winter. The most perfect of all seasons. Contrasts compete for our attention. Sunny, cloudless skies carelessly intermingle with freezing cold winds.
Rain falls of its own volition. Either masses of it, or discreet little showers.
Either way, one cannot escape the climatically-induced changes to dressing and living in this Magnificent "Ville".
Melbourne. Pleasure to all of the senses. A fashionista's dream. A cultural force.
A place where hopefully only very few (fashion-related) faux-pas are made.
By its very definition, this is a city that defines the style of the Antipodean outlook. Only Wellington can begin to compare. (That is a whole other story)
Sitting here on this rainy weekend, I cannot believe just how simple our pleasures are. Sitting at Tucci Brown in Brighton, and yesterday at Manakish in Elsternwick- I was stirred by the beauty of the breeze flying... My FENDI shawl billowing, and my fragrance permeating the air. Until I remembered, winter brings out the the ferals.
Like some tribe known to totally exist of a sense of primeval "style".
The ferals have a way of making themselves known wherever they may hail from. Bad hair, mis-matched foundation, and a genuine sense of judgement (you read that correctly) for anyone who embraces chic.
More to the point, maybe it is because I accessorise with high-end pieces from the prèt-a-porter féminin... Either way, I couldn't care less for what those philistines have to say or think... After all, I don't wear a scrunchy in my hair.
Ultimately, Judgy-Wudgy was a bear. And this Judgy-Wudgy frankly, doesn't care!
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