Everybody’s Talking At Me & Other Side Effects From Wearing Bright Clothing

Everyone isn’t talking at me, but I did find myself humming the song of the same title yesterday.  It took me a while to figure out why: it was the line ‘I’m going where the weather suits my clothes’ that resonated.  Having being inspired to wear bright clothes for the rest of the week because it’s getting to the point in winter where I’m tiring of the dullness and aching for spring to bloom, yesterday was suitably spring like.  Compared to the greyness of Tuesday afternoon in Warwickshire, it seemed like the drive to Surrey on Wednesday morning really did take me to where the weather suits my clothes.  It was stunningly sunny; so much so that while driving I had my sunglasses on for the first time this year.  In my bright red dress with red beads and a royal blue coat, I didn’t feel out of place but very much part of the world around me.  I felt like a brighly coloured tulip.  And it felt good.

Yesterday’s glorious weather has faded somewhat today.  There’s a watery sunshine and a faded grandeur in the air: lots of soft shades, from the brown of old bark to the new shoots and leaves breaking out.  My colours too are more muted today: a bottle green dress, with navy tights and navy shoes, as well as a splash of amber in my necklace.  I guess my outfit isn’t really that bright, but it is still colourful (I also guess that I should have defined the terms of my mini-project more clearly before I packed on Tuesday night!).  I also have lashings of a good old-fashioned old-school Hollywood red lipstick on.  This particular shade always makes me feel like a 1940s film star, as if I should be making wisecracks and raising a withering eyebrow at any spiv that dare try to endear themselves to me.  It’s Nars Red Lizard, if anyone wants to try it – it has amazingly transformative effects, as does nature.  I think that’s how I’m feeling today: a strange mix of the subdued rebirth quietly taking place outside and the faded memory of out-and-out glamour.  A strange mix of grandeur and decay; rebirth and nostalgia.  And when I go out later, I’m going to add a leopard print beret into that mix. 

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