At one point in his life, my father was a suit-sporting, shiny-car-driving, talk-the-talking salesman. And, while he didn’t pass on much to me that has stood the test of time, my love for a well-tailored three-piece is most assuredly paternally rooted. So much so, that my first foray into developing a personal style was donning his cast-offs, still pungent with cigarette smoke and way too short in the leg.
This was not a look that I tried on at home and worked up the courage to wear dehors. I was a teenage drama (school) queen and thought a class trip to the theatre would be the perfect debut. I added Dr Martens, a bowler hat and a pair of round-rimmed non-prescription glasses I’d bought from Sportsgirl (decades before JK conjured HP, OK).
People took notice. They said nice things. And by the time John Proctor was hanged in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, I was sold. Androgyny is power. This girl below knows what I’m talking about. And check out that Chinese collar. Why didn’t I think of that?
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Image via here.