Beat that for kecks appeal Liz
JWELL, the kaftans have landed... my holiday wardrobe finally turned up and I was able to ditch the woebegone teeshirts and M&S floral trousers of yore I’d salvaged from the back of the spare room closet at our holiday villa.
BTW (as texters put it) I’m NOT dissing M&S trousers... I have some lovely crop-length kecks from its latest summer collection, which I was thrilled to unpack, having left them behind in the perpetual winter of Narnia, ie London, in my daughter’s old wardrobe.
And yes, as he who must be obeyed writes here, marital relations are much less frosty and we can gloss over the fact that when I say I left them behind, I’m being tactful. Because actually HE was the one who didn’t pack them in the car.
But hush... let’s be generous – I’m happy that now I’ve got some decent clothes I can sally forth into restaurants and hotels with confidence.
Or can I?
Because that’s the trouble with the French Riviera, the sartorial bar is set incredibly high. Because of Covid, most of the visitors this year are French, so there’s little comfort to be gained watching other British ladies in their M&S beachwear trying and failing to out-chic their massively stylish French counterparts.
We spent the day poolside at a smart hotel this week (not the A-list favourite Hôtel du Cap Eden Roc, my confidence is but a tiny seedling and far too vulnerable yet to face the full Liz Hurley, left, glamouronslaught) where I watched French femmes d’un age certain disport themselves with complete self-assurance.
Their kaftans are silky and slinky and they wear bikinis with sangfroid whatever their age. No slouching to the pool-edge hiding under a towel until the last possible moment. It’s not that their bodies are perfect – they’re just too confident to care.
And confidence is what it’s all about really. Being happy in your own skin. Maybe French women are born with it – well that and an innate sense of style.
Ah well. Mustn’t grumble.At least I’ve got my summer season M&S polka dot beach trousers.