Once upon a time in a favourite jacket…

Surely, she thought, surely not.

The rain seeped through the clouds, spitting a sticky glaze over London town. She looked out of the window with heavy, irritated lids and dancing eyebrows. Despite being perfectly, wonderfully, impractically not waterproof, come rain, shine or nuclear warfare she remained loyal to her favourite soft leather jacket.

The running silk thread through the core of any outfit, a reason to skip rather than walk, with buttery soft leather, gilded surface and silky interior, her gold vintage leather jacket smelt of youth, girls and the start of her sparkle. The crumpled lapels enveloped her chest like a protective mother, justifying any outfit choices, cuddling grumpy moods and injecting belief into her stance. She felt sparkly inside it, like a truffle in a shiny foil wrap, warm when there was a breeze, cool when the sun smiled. Like a Byzantium casket, locked inside it is memories, a feeling, a desire to be a certain way, a longing to be a different shape from the others.

As her very fabulous and wise mother would say, it is not the clothes, but how you ‘work it’ inside them. Blessed with amiable sophistication, her mother carries herself with poise, elegance and most of all respect for her choice of outfit. Be it a baggy pair of boyfriend jeans, a sky-high pair of stilettos with a pencil skirt, or her favourite Miumiu biker boots and playful frock; she exudes class, control and covetable confidence. It was in her she found inspiration, herself. A childhood of decadent shoes, vintage brooches and shiny jackets.

The favourite gold jacket spoke about evenings in the river’s sweet cinnamon breeze, tip tap’s through Covent Garden armed with enthusiasm, and vintage pub lunches with old diamonds and homemade lasagne with curly fries.

She subsided to her wardrobe, cursing the rain for even allowing her to doubt it. A white and blue floral pattern, ankle socks and a topknot bun.

Surely.