This flamboyant head arrangement throws me into a quandary of confusion. It certainly catches the eye, screaming at me to pop it on and go for a burlesque audition. The piece has been made for dress-up: I like to imagine that if I kept it long enough my daughter would wear it tottering in my high heels, a slip and string of pearls , mashing my expensive lipstick between her chubby fingers.
However, this gregarious peacock originates from the middle-aged mother-in-law of department stores Marks and Spencer.
Marks and I share a very tempestuous relationship (but we’re so close I can idiomatically call it â€˜Marks’) and we have done so since our first introduction by my mother back when I still deigned to shop with her.
Back then it was so very, very naff. In college the one by Great Portland Street was very convenient for sandwiches. At university I yearned for Marks because I couldn’t afford it. Now I hardly know where I stand. I love their underwear; hate the cut and shape of anything else remotely associated with fashion. Still love their Thai duck wraps. This year they’ve gone and done leather trousers , bravo Marks! But, of course, it’s not quite right because they’ve done leather trousers without any attitude: just regular black office trousers, but instead of being made in a poly blend, they’re made of leather.
I also think letting a pair of leather trousers loose in Marks and Spencer is also rather dangerous. What if my mother bought them?