I saw this jacket late at night when I was, ahem, on my sleeping medication. It took me nearly thirty minutes of struggling with Topshop’s login system to make the purchase. At several points during the procedure, I asked my self if perhaps god didn’t want me to buy this jacket. My self was too medicated to ponder god’s plan.
The very next day, Queen Michelle wrote about ordering the jacket. Suddenly, everyone and her mother* was wearing this jacket and blogging about it, posing in it triumphantly with their skinnies (and/or touching their faces with one hand.)
Naturally, I dreaded the arrival of the jacket and filled out a return form in anticipation. I didn’t bother to try it on; I didn’t want anything to do with it.
From the top left, bloggers Carla, Betty, and Sea of Shoes’ Mom*.
Let me say that I dress how I please, without regard to trends or age-appropriateness. My personal style is called Geriatric Tomboy . It is based around jeans, men’s shoes, gaudy jewelry and leather jackets. It hasn’t really evolved in 35 years and until I switch over to the mourning attire, who cares anyway.
But I can’t stand the idea of being another chump in this Topshop jacket! It’s just too depressing. Now I’ve got the money back and I can recycle it, buying more pointless crap and torturing myself over my greed and lack of self control. But at least I won’t be wearing that fucking jacket, which -with all due respect – looked pretty cheap in real life.
Now, let’s hear a bunch of sanctimonious objections like “Who cares if everyone else has it, blah blah blah!” or even “I’d rock that jacket anyway!” Someone out there knows exactly what I’m talking about – right?