Plus Bim Adewunmi’s First take
I am settling into the age at which I quietly lament the clothes that have left my life. I don’t necessarily have “favourites” but I do own a lot of “one-and-onlys” – that pair of miraculous denim cutoffs that were somehow suitable for work and play; the leather belt I found for a fiver in a charity shop that has now been with me longer than a few of my best mates; the perfect slouchy navy blouse that sits just so over skirts and trousers. Slowly, these items are exiting my life, worn down by my unforgiving wear schedule. My mother once told me, with gentle concern, “You know you don’t have to wear clothes until they’re rags, right?” I know I don’t, Mother, but what if I like to?
It’s been raining in New York, so much so that I made a corny joke to an American stranger about “feeling like I’m back home”. As the evening dark rushes to meet us earlier and earlier, bringing an autumnal chill, I have been keenly missing one item in particular – a faux-leather jacket I bought cheaply many years back. This is the first autumn in almost a decade when I have not slung it on for most of October and November. Its absence is discombobulating. It was a soft, dark brown with contrasting black sleeves, and cost less than £30 in the New Look sale. It was more fashionable than its component colours would have you believe, warmer than its manmade fabric should have allowed and sturdier than its price point would suggest. Basically it was perfect, so of course I wore it to death.
Its replacement is a re reversible gold and black bomber that is absolutely not a one-and-only.
But it’ll do. @bimadew @bim